


Purgatory

by SalishSea



Category: NCIS
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post Season/Series 10, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 54,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalishSea/pseuds/SalishSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Instinctively her fingers reached for her locket, finding only bare skin. It was lost, she wasn't sure how or when. Gibbs had given it to her the day he left Hawaii, and her life, over ten years ago. She could still feel his warm breath in her ear whispering 'I love you' as he slipped it into her hand. And now, like Gibbs, it was lost, another part of him ripped from her life.</i>
</p><p>For 3 months EJ Barrett has suffered, mired in grief and despair over the death of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Teetering on the edge of emotional and physical breakdown, and with her career on the line, she must stop a threat of nuclear terrorism, only to uncover new evidence questioning Gibbs' death which launches her and McGee on a suicide mission to find out if he is really dead, or alive.  COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of the "A New Set of Rules" future reality, set 2 and a half years after season 10 with a newly established relationship between Gibbs and Barrett. (For back story read "A New Set of Rules".) This story is a long case-fic, with a little bit of everything: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, suspense, sex, violence, torture and language making the rating "M". Nothing is overdone, but it isn't underplayed either. Hopefully I've hit it just right. Please be aware of these situations and rating, then read on at your discretion.
> 
> For us McGee fans, McGee IS a major character in this story. Other NCIS characters appear only briefly.
> 
> Many thanks to TheSilentPartner for helping me get some of the DC and Virginia geography and locations revised correctly.
> 
> As always, I really appreciate your reviews and feedback. Thanks for reading. Disclaimer: I own nothing. No profit or gain.

_Her lungs ached, starving for oxygen as she kicked and clawed desperately through the murky water toward the surface. One hand griped his lifeless body which weighed her down, threatening to take her deeper. But she would not let go, would not surrender him to the depths below her. She clutched at him frantically, struggling to retain her hold. Panic coursed through her as she felt exhausted muscles losing their ability to stave off the pull of the deep on his motionless form. He slipped from her grasp and she watched in horror as the still body sank deeper into the darkness. Her mind burned in agony as her mouth opened to scream out her despair. Water rushed into her lungs. The pain was excruciating. She began to sink as the depths reached up to claim her._

EJ Barrett's eyes snapped open as she bolted upright. Her scream found its voice, turning into a wail that filled the room with sorrow and grief, echoing off the walls, terrifying her further. Her sweat soaked chest heaved as she fought for air while her eyes struggled to see through damp and matted hair, darting frantically around the room trying to find something to anchor her, something familiar, something safe. The bedroom door burst open as Anthony DiNozzo rushed to the bed, dropped down beside her and pulled her into his arms. Her heaving breath turned into racking sobs as she buried her head into his chest. He held her, saying nothing, his face filled with pain and sadness.

Minutes passed. Her sobs slowly subsided, her breathing grew less ragged. Tony reached down and took her chin in his hand, gently raising her head, just enough for her eyes to meet his.

"Another nightmare?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Same one?"

"Yes," she whispered, her breathing still rough, her face flushed and tear stained.

"God, EJ. I am so sorry." He softly stroked her hair as she held onto him tightly.

"It's OK, Tony. I'm ... OK," she choked out, slowly pulling away from him, a weak smile of gratitude on her shaken face. "I'll be OK."

Tony held both of her hands in his, speaking softly, "Yeah, I know. It's just that you haven't had any sleep for weeks now. I'm worried about you – were all worried about you."

"I know," she sighed, her breathing calmer now. "You guys staying over here … it means a lot to me. I don't think I'm ready to be alone yet – not at night."

"Hey, no worries, kiddo. Best night of my week. I have someone who'll put up with watching movies everyone else hates," he flashed a grin at her.

She forced a weak smile and nodded.

They sat for a few minutes longer until EJ's breathing returned to normal. She laid her head back on the pillow and Tony made sure the night-light was on when he turned out the overhead light as he left, closing the door to Gibbs' bedroom.

He turned away from the bedroom door and walked down the hallway to the living room. Flopping down on Gibbs' old couch he let out a defeated sigh. EJ's grief was heart-breaking and nothing he could do would take it away.

Pulling out his phone he checked the time and noticed the date. It was almost three months to the day that the director had called EJ up to his office, followed a few minutes later by his summons of Tony, Ziva and McGee. Upon entering the office they found EJ sobbing hysterically, clutching at Cynthia, the director's administrative assistant. After Craig's explanation, he and the rest of his team stood, stunned, not knowing what to say or do, now that retired NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was dead.

He was startled by his phone's ringtone. Ziva David's name showed on the caller ID.

"Hey Z," he sighed.

"Tony," she hesitated, "are you alright?" a tone of concern obvious in her voice.

"Yeah," he paused, "well, actually, no," despair seeped through his words.

"I can come over," she said.

"That's not necessary, Z. Everything's fine."

"You do not sound fine."

"I'm OK, Z."

"How is EJ?"

"Had another nightmare … woke up screaming. She just laid back down a few minutes ago."

"It was the same nightmare, yes?"

"Yeah. The one in the water - with Gibbs. God, Ziva, you should have seen her. It seems like it's getting worse."

"I will be there in twenty minutes," she said.

"Z, it's alright. You don't need to come over. It's not even your night."

"I know I do not have to. But I am going to anyway. That is what partners do for each other, Tony. You are my partner and I have your back. I will be there soon. Make some coffee."

"Ziva David, you are a pain in the ass," he said with a small chuckle. "I'll have the coffee ready." He ended the call.

He cringed at what he knew his next task must be, calling NCIS Director, Jerome Craig. He couldn't put it off any longer.

Craig had allowed EJ to continue working despite her deepening grief over Gibbs' death. But as EJ started to have recurring nightmares he began to second guess his decision and considered placing EJ on medical leave. She argued adamantly that she was capable of working and begged Craig to let her continue. The factor convincing Craig to keep her on active duty was the initiation of a rotating volunteer schedule by Tony, Ziva, McGee, Abby, Ducky and even Palmer, to stay with her at night for support and, more importantly from the director's perspective, to monitor her emotional and physical health. It had been three months since Gibbs had perished in the helicopter crash into Chesapeake Bay and for the past two months one member of the team had stayed with EJ every night.

EJ had insisted on staying at Gibbs' house, sleeping in Gibbs' bed. She said she didn't feel good about staying in her apartment, that his house was the home of their rekindled, and now short-lived, relationship. It felt a little weird to Tony, sleeping on Gibbs' couch a couple of nights a week without Gibbs in the picture. But he understood her need to be close to Gibbs, surrounding herself with his things, in his place, which seemed to provide her some small amount of comfort.

Every night before retiring to Gibbs' bedroom she descended to the basement spending several minutes rubbing and caressing the two wooden chairs that had been his most recent projects. She said she just needed to smell and touch the wood. He knew the wood's aroma and texture reminded her of Gibbs. He hadn't told her, but after he knew she was asleep, he would visit the chairs as well. Like her, the wood brought him closer to his friend and mentor. And like her, he often found that his grief felt comfortable enough to visit him while he communed with the wood.

Craig had given his agents specific orders to keep him posted on EJ and to report if she improved, or got worse. Tony had witnessed a significant deterioration in EJ's emotional and physical heath during the past week, so much so that it scared him. He knew he had no choice but to brief the director on his observations. He opened his phone's speed dial list and thumbed the entry for Jerome Craig's cell phone.

His report to the director was short and he knew the information he shared would result in Craig pulling EJ from active duty. He knew it would be ugly between EJ and him when she found out why Craig suspended her from the duty roster. He slumped back into the couch, exhaling slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor. He was thankful for Ziva's stubborn insistence that she come over. He rose, walking toward the kitchen. He had coffee to prepare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 finds EJ continuing to struggle with her grief, but finding a moment of relief in sensual memories of she and Gibbs together.


	2. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EJ continues the struggle with her grief and despair, fantasizing about Gibbs. (Warning: "M" rating for sexual situation.)

Morning twilight seeped past the bedroom window shades, pushing back the resistant darkness. EJ slowly opened her eyes, pushed herself up on one elbow and looked through the gray light of the room barely making out the clock on the wall which read 5:30 am.

The headache of an almost sleepless night had claimed its place behind her forehead. She sighed, sat up and dangled her legs over the side of the bed. She looked down at the long and worn NCIS tee shirt that hung over her petite frame, reaching down below her knees. She had slept in it every night for the past 3 months, washing it occasionally, but never spending a night without it wrapped around her. It smelled and felt like Gibbs and reminded her of the nights she had fallen asleep in his arms. Her heart grew heavy and tears of grief welled in her eyes. She swallowed hard and steeled herself, determined not to cry. She stood and walked out of the bedroom down the hall toward the living room to check on Tony.

As she entered the room and looked over at the couch the sight that greeted her brought a smile to her lips. Tony sat on the couch, fast asleep, slouched back and leaning against its right armrest, his legs outstretched resting on the coffee table. Ziva, also asleep, was curled up on the rest of the couch, her head against Tony's thigh using it as a pillow. EJ's heart fluttered for an instant with joy for her two fellow agents.

Over the past several months Ziva and Tony had been slowly working on opening up to each other, trying to get past their fears and insecurities - of which, God knew, they both had an ample supply - and explore their true feelings toward each other. They had made progress as trust and understanding were building between the two. Although not an "official couple", EJ had noticed their relationship become more relaxed, less competitive, with each paying more attention to the other's needs.

EJ remembered her brief conference room conversation with Ziva almost 6 months ago, the day she and Gibbs had almost ruined any chance of love between them. She had told Ziva to, ' _screw the rules, before it's too late_.' EJ knew Ziva had understood that she was encouraging Ziva to do something about her feelings toward Tony before life intervened, taking away any chance they might have to be together. It seemed Ziva had taken her plea to heart and both she and Tony were working hard at trying to figure out who they were to each other.

The joy in her heart for Tony and Ziva was quickly engulfed by an overwhelming sadness; the grief of knowing she would never have that type of love again. Gibbs was dead and she was alone. Fighting back tears EJ turned and walked softly down the hall to the bathroom, entered, closed and locked the door. Only then did she allow tears to fall, struggling to muffle the sounds of her sobs so as not to wake her friends.

She stood at the counter, staring at the large mirror behind the sink. She knew from her experience over the past three months that her sobs would dissipate in a few minutes. She was sick and tired of this routine and longed for the time when it wouldn't hurt so much. But she was beginning to think that such a time of relief was not in her future. After a short while her sobs subsided and the tears stopped; but the aftermath left her stomach nauseated and her heart aching.

As the tears ceased she examined her reflection. Instinctively her hand came up, touching her collarbone just under her chin, searching for her locket, but her fingers and eyes found only bare skin. It had disappeared sometime over the past several weeks, she wasn't sure how or when. It was silver with a carved, white, shell cameo rose set on a black, onyx background.

Gibbs had given it to her the day he left Hawaii - and her life - over ten years earlier. She could still feel his warm breath in her ear as he whispered ' _I love you'_ while he slipped it into her hand just before he turned and exited the terminal, walking out onto the tarmac to board the Air Force cargo plan that would take him back to DC. Over the years she had treasured it above all other possessions. When they had rekindled their relationship six months ago she began wearing it always, removing it only to shower. And now, like Gibbs, it was lost - another part of him ripped from her life.

She turned on the shower and set the water to hot. Lately she found she liked her showers almost scalding; the pleasure and pain of the hot water seemed to wash away the heaviness of her nightmares. Waiting for the water to warm she shed her tee shirt and stared at the fragile and vulnerable woman looking back at her from the mirror.

In her mid-thirties, her diminutive and slender body was firm and toned, her skin soft and supple. Gibbs loved her body which, although small, was curvy in all of the places he enjoyed. He described her body as  _exquisite_ and would revel in it any chance he could. She loved his hands on her, exploring her, commanding her, exciting her in a way no one had before. They were a lover's hands, making her body sing in ecstasy.

She gazed at the woman in the mirror, mapping the contour of her shoulders and arms, her eyes moving to her petite and supple breasts. She followed her gaze downward exploring her narrow waist, the curve of her hips, then her strong and sleek thighs before the counter obscured the remainder of her legs. She hesitantly reached her right hand up and gently cupped her right breast, watching the reflection in the mirror as if observing a completely different person. The woman in the mirror tentatively brushed her thumb in a feather-soft caress against her erect nipple. She heard a gasp and saw the woman lean her head back and begin to close her eyes.

Leaning back with eyes closed she brought her other hand to her left breast, gently embracing it, and felt Gibbs' hands on her. His arms were around her shoulders, his hands caressing and kneading her breasts, pulling her back into his chest where she could feel his heart pounding into her shoulder. His breath was hot against her cheek as he trailed wet kisses from her ear, down the line of her jaw to the vein that pulsed in her neck. She leaned her head back, lost in him, giving him more access to ravish her neck and shoulder, needing his hot breath rushing over her as his attentive hands on her breasts fueled her growing desire.

Her skin tingled as the finger tip of one hand traced lazily back and forth down the center of her chest from between her breasts, moving slowly past her navel, meandering back and forth over her stomach, continuing to travel downward. Her breath caught for an instant, then she shuddered and let out a gasp as the finger slowly moved lower, grazing back and forth along the top of her curls, pausing there as he teased the passion within her from a spark into a flame. She could feel the wetness of her core answering to the magic of his touch.

Finally he moved down, slowly gliding his finger through the wetness of her folds, once, then twice. But that was not his intended goal. Slick with her desire he moved his finger back up and flicked across the crux of her passion. Her hips bucked against his hand and her body shuddered. Once more he visited his finger across it. A whimpering moan of need escaped her lips and she pressed her mound hard into his hand. Understanding her message he began to massage her crux in earnest, his entire hand now wet with her need, while exerting exquisite pressure and teasing flicks with his other hand to her breast and engorged nipple.

Her hips rocked side to side with the movement of his hand against her, each sway bringing her closer to release. With eyes still closed she concentrated on his hand as her breathing grew ragged; the surge of ecstasy building between her legs radiating up through her hips into her stomach and chest. He continued to expertly stroke her arousal, pushing her upward, building and climbing and clawing to a release that she must have - would die without. Her hips moved faster and harder against his hand as his fingers pressed more insistently. Her pulse pounded in her ears excluding all sound, her breathing stopped, her mind exploded in fire, her body shuddered and convulsed as she choked out his name while her trembling legs grew weak, almost collapsing.

Her breath came in racking gasps, her numb senses slowing returning. The heat in her core retreated from white-hot to smoldering, her desire deliciously quenched. As she slowly returned to her senses she smiled and felt his hands still on her, never leaving, his love for her without doubt. Her breathing, though still ragged, slowed and strength returned to her legs. She sighed and slowly opened her eyes to gaze into his which she knew would speak to her of love. Squinted through the steamy mist she searched the mirror for his rich, blue eyes, but they were not there to greet her. She saw only the woman, one hand on her breast, the other at her core, the rhythm of her labored breathing apparent as her chest rose and fell.

Despair engulfed her. An aching grief ripped at her heart. Strength left her and she collapsed onto the floor, curling her arms over her head as she sobbed into them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In chapter 3 EJ is confronted by Director Craig, her job and career at NCIS in jeopardy.


	3. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Director Craig confronts EJ about her deteriorating health and work performance, teetering on the edge of taking her off the job.

After what seemed like hours, EJ's sobs subsided. Through sheer force of will she climbed to her feet and dragged herself into the scalding shower. After dressing she relinquished the bathroom so Tony and Ziva could also prepare for work. Thanking them and acknowledging that she would see them at work in a little while, EJ exited the house and drove her car to a familiar coffee shop.

She and Gibbs would stop at this shop almost every morning as he drove her to work, after which he would embark on his day of mundane tasks or exciting adventures in his new profession as a private investigator. He always ordered the same; a large black coffee and a toasted plain bagel with cream cheese. She had always been a cappuccino fan, but mimicked Gibbs penchant for bagels and cream cheese. Since his death, though, her drink of choice had switched to match his - coffee … regular … black. She still ordered the bagel, but usually found her stomach could tolerate only a few bites and more often than not the bagel went untouched.

As she stood in line at the counter she spied herself in the huge mirror mounted on the back wall behind the baristas' work area. She surveyed her reflection and grimaced. Her bloodshot eyes were dull and lifeless with dark, baggy circles underneath. Her cheeks were slightly hollow, attesting to the weight she had lost when her appetite disappeared. Her shoulders were slumped and she stood leaning against the counter, as if it was the only thing holding her up. She was chagrined to actually see with her own eyes that she looked as exhausted as she felt.

_My god! I'm a damned mess! No wonder everyone is freaked out about me. This has got to stop. I've got to pull myself together or I'll lose my job. That can't happen – I can't let that happen. Damn it woman, get a grip! Pull your head out! Do something – anything. Just deal with it!_

She watched herself in the mirror as she mentally berated herself. Eventually she took in a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. Standing taller she squared her shoulders, a new intention spreading across her, resolved that when she arrived at work she would start doing things differently – if only for today; to begin the slow climb out of her pit of despair.

With a renewed spirit she exited the elevator into the squad room walking over to her desk in the MCRT 2 bullpen. Tony, Ziva and McGee, already at their desks, looked at her tentatively. She smiled at them and nodded, seeing their features relax just a bit at her seemingly bright mood.

As she sat her backpack down she noticed the note on her desk. It was from the director. He wanted to see her in his office when she got in. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a frown of concern as a tight knot of fear formed in the pit of her stomach, bringing with it the nausea she had become so accustomed to over the past several months. She folded the note, tucking it in her pocket as she walked out of the bullpen. Striding past Tony, Ziva and McGee she did not turn to look at them, although she felt their eyes follow her the entire way up the stairs. As she approached the director's outer office her skin grew clammy and cold. She was pretty sure she knew what the director wanted and she struggled to fight off the despair pounding against the walls of her mind, demanding entrance once more.

"EJ," Jerome Craig said, walking over to greet her as she entered his office, "how are you doing?"

"I'm good." she said, her tone guarded. "Thanks for asking."

"Have a seat," he pointed to the chair by his conference table.

EJ knew that Craig's concern was genuine. He was different than the past two directors, Shepard and Vance. He was more like Morrow, the NCIS Director at that time she became an agent. Craig was soft spoken, slow to anger, compassionate and willing to express his thoughts and feelings. Some thought this was a sign of weakness, that Shepard and Vance were tougher and thus, better directors. But in the past six months she had come to know that along with his thoughtful demeanor Craig possessed an unflinching ability to make tough decisions. And, for the most part, his decisions were usually right. She respected the man, which made her that much more uncomfortable with what she anticipated had motivated him to call her to his office.

"EJ," Craig said, meeting her eyes. "I'm worried about your health, both emotionally and physically. You seem to be doing worse, not better, and I'm concerned that it's starting to effect your work."

She said nothing, shifting her eyes to the table in front of her, clasping her hands in her lap.

Craig sighed. "Have you thought any more about taking some time off? I think it might be a good idea."

She kept her head tilted down, but lifted her eyes up to look at him. "I don't," she said, her voice flat but tense.

"Why not," he retorted, meeting her stubbornness head on.

"Because, I'm fine."

"No, EJ, you're not fine," his voice still compassionate, but focused and assertive. "You've lost weight, you can't sleep, you look like hell and you're an emotional wreck. And you have every right to be!"

Her eyes kept his gaze but she remained silent.

"And you have every right to take some time off," Craig continued. "That doesn't make you weak, or a bad agent, or … or whatever you're afraid of. It just means you're human. I know what Gibbs meant to you, but I could never fathom how hard this is for you. I can see how it's effecting you and how much you hurt."

"I'm OK," she blurted out, more defensively than she wished. "I need to work. Work is what keeps me going." She felt tears welling in her eyes. "Please, don't take that away from me." She was pleading now. "I'll work harder at getting better. I'll increase my counseling appointments. I'll …."

Craig cut her off. "It's not about getting _better_. It's about getting _through it_."

She swallowed hard, defeat in her eyes. Hunching her shoulders forward she shifted her gaze down to the table preparing to endure the decision she knew was coming. Panic gripped her chest as she struggled for breath while the nausea which had already invaded her stomach welled up into her throat, threatening to overpower her efforts to keep it down. Her work was the last remnant of sanity in her crumbling world and now it, too, was being ripped from her grasp.

Craig sighed. He sat silently, looking at her for a long time. Finally he cleared his throat, "OK, let's try this. I want you to get out of DC for a couple of days, maybe even a week."

She continued to stare at the table, resigned to her fate.

"There's a case out of Bremerton - computer data theft from the Bangor submarine base. I'm sending McGee there for a couple of days to initiate the computer forensics component of the investigation. You're going to go with him. It's an easy gig and this should give you breather."

She looked up at him, confused. Her emotions churned between shock to disbelief.

"This will get you the hell out of here and away from everything, at least for a couple of days," Craig continued. "The Puget Sound is beautiful this time of year. The trip and the scenery should do you good. And you'll get to reconnect with Chris Bishop – it's his MCRT at Bremerton that's running the case."

Her thoughts whirled, fearful her ears had betrayed her because she had expected suspension at best and dismissal at worst. Had she really just dodged the bullet she feared more than anything? She swallowed hard, nodded her understanding, afraid to say anything, fearful her trembling voice would make Craig change his mind.

"EJ," Craig said, his voice earnest, "I need you to get your arms around this. You need to figure out what you need to do to get through it. I don't want to lose you, you're one of my best agents. But right now you're a liability, not an asset. If you can't turn this around I'll have no choice but to take you off the duty roster."

She gulped hard again and nodded.

"If there is anything you need, no matter what it is, let me know and I'll try to make it happen. Just talk to me. I can't help if you don't talk to me," Craig finished.

"I know," her voice cracked. "Thank you, Director."

"Of course," Craig said.

They stood, Craig nodded, acknowledging her dismissal and she turned and left his office.

Stepping out of the director's office onto the second floor balcony she exhaled, the sound of air loudly pushing out from between pursed lips. She knew how close she had come to losing her job and she knew she would not have the strength to survive if separated from her work and her friends right now. She also realized that Craig was going out on a limb for her, that his decision included his own risk of allowing a compromised agent to remain on duty. She was still stunned at his decision, but the faintest glimmer of hope rose in the back of her thoughts. Hope that others still saw her as a positive and contributing member of the team. Hope that her career was still in-tact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 finds EJ teamed with McGee in what, on the surface, looks to be a "no-brainer" case assignment.


	4. Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EJ gets the background on a case where the motives aren't clear and there's no clue who might be behind the espionage. To make matters worse, she finds out she'll be working with an old partner she believes has feelings for her.

EJ walked from the director's office down the stairs to the MCRT 1 bullpen, past Tony and Ziva, stepping over to McGee sitting behind his desk.

"I'm your new temporary partner," she said, unsure of how he would respond.

Tim smiled reassuringly. "I know, I got the word from Craig. Should be a piece of cake."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tony said in surprise as he jumped up and walked over to EJ and McGee, "what's this about a temporary partner? And what should be a piece of cake?" He looked back and forth between EJ and McGee.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Ziva had also turned her attention toward them.

"Didn't you get the memo, Tony?" McGee smirked at him.

"Hey, 'McFunnyMan', sorry to burst your bubble but you aren't _that_ funny," Tony quipped back. "I am the 'Agent in Charge' and I'm ordering you to tell me what's a piece of cake."

Just then they heard Craig's voice from the balcony overlooking the bullpen. "DiNozzo, my office. I'll brief you on the _cake_."

Tony looked up, a sheepish grin on his face. "Right boss, on my way." He ran out of the bullpen, bounded up the stairs and followed Craig into his office.

EJ heaved a sigh of relief. She didn't have it in her to deal with Tony and his banter right now. She was thankful that Craig had stepped-in to get Tony up to speed. Now she just wanted McGee to brief her so she could get her mind off of her conversation with the director.

"OK. So, what'cha got for me McGee?" she said.

She did a double-take at the astonished look on McGee's face. His jaw had dropped and his eyes were huge.

"What ...?" she said, drawing the word out, trying to figure out the reason for his astonished expression.

He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Nothing," he croaked as he looked down at his computer.

EJ paused for a moment thinking about their exchange and wondered what could have shaken McGee up. As she rewound her question to him and ran it through her mind she realized what had startled him - she sounded like Gibbs. And it wasn't just the words, _what'cha got for me McGee'_ , but it was also the way she said it. Her tone of voice, the contraction of _'what do you'_ into _'what'cha',_ the emphasis on the word 'got', it was as if she had channeled some spirit of Gibbs into the room.

She looked over at McGee. "Sorry," she said. "Habit. Comes from hanging around Gibbs all the time."

As Gibbs' name rolled off her tongue a tinge of sadness and longing reached up from her stomach, wanting her attention as it did so often over the past several weeks. She fought it down and turned her attention back to the task at hand.

"OK, McGee. Brief me." She pulled up Tony's chair next to Tim's desk so she could see his computer monitor.

"We really don't know a lot yet," Tim said. "Basically we think some low-level, classified, logistics and operations information was hacked into and copied from a server at the Trident nuclear missile submarine base in Bangor, Washington."

As EJ watched he scrolled through several documents on his computer screen. "We know the information has been compromised, but we don't know why. There are thousands of pages of documents and tons of database information that could have been copied, but we don't have a clue as to what information they were looking for, or even if they found what they were after."

He turned to look at EJ. "The director asked me to go to Naval Base Kitsap and work with the Bremerton MCRT to do an analysis of the Bangor base. I'm supposed to evaluate their computer security structure to try to figure out how the system got hacked and what data was targeted."

"Geeze," she said, "that's like looking for a needle in a haystack!"

"Yep," he exhaled a heavy sigh.

"OK, remind me again how those bases are set-up," she said.

"It's pretty simple, actually," he responded. " Back in 2004 the Bremerton naval base and the Bangor nuclear submarine base were consolidated into one operational entity - Naval Base Kitsap. Guess it was a way to cut costs. Anyway both bases are on the Kitsap peninsula in Washington State, about 30 miles apart – thus, the name, 'Naval Base Kitsap.' The NCIS field office for the base is at the Bremerton Naval Yard. That's where Chris Bishop's MCRT team is stationed. Craig said we'll be working with him on this."

EJ's thoughts went to Bishop. He had been a member of MCRT 2 and served under her supervision when she transferred to Washington D.C. as the MCRT 2 Agent in Charge. But he was an up and coming, career oriented agent and had been promoted to the team lead position for the Bremerton MCRT, resulting in EJ only working with him for about two months.

Remembered their brief time working together Bishop's face played across her mind. He was about her age, with thick, blond hair that framed steely green eyes and bright white teeth that flashed a smile to die for. But he wasn't a 'pretty-boy'; his features were ruggedly handsome. At 6 feet 2 inches tall he was definitely nice to look at, his muscular body attesting to his prior military service as an Army Ranger. There had been the normal office flirtatious banter between the two of them; an innuendo here, a playful shove there. She was sure if she had not been in a relationship with Gibbs - a relationship that was public given that Gibbs had retired from the agency - Bishop would have pursued her, which certainly wasn't a bad thought and did wonders for her ego. It would be good to see him again.

Her thoughts returned to McGee.

"Like I said, 'a piece of cake'," he finished. "Sorry EJ, but this is probably going to be a 'snoozer' as far as you're concerned," then he quickly added, "but I'm really glad to have your along." He flashed a sheepish grin and stared at her.

Both frustration and resignation filled EJ's thoughts as she brought her attention back to the present. Frustration in that the director felt she was only capable enough of going on a 'milk-run' case like this. Resignation in that she was still working and the director had given her an assignment. She decided to make the best of it and move forward.

"Thanks Tim," she said. "Do you know when we leave?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow morning. A C-130 is leaving for Whidby Island Naval Air Station at 0400 and we're supposed to be on it."

"Right. I'm heading home to pack and get some sleep. I'll see you at Andrews at 0330."

"Copy that," McGee said. He paused and then continued, "EJ, I meant what I said. I am really glad to work with you on this case."

"Thanks, McGee," she could hear the sincerity in his voice. Of all of the people to spend a week with on a case, McGee was the one she would have picked if given the choice. He was professional, kind, sensitive and funny. He was also a damned good agent.

"I'm looking forward to working with you too," she said. "See you in the morning."

He nodded and EJ turned, walked over to her desk, grabbed her backpack, gun and badge and entered the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 finds EJ and McGee on their way to Washington state. But can EJ keep it together enough to stay the course.


	5. Roadtrip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EJ and McGee travel to someplace beautiful for a change. The scenery and panoromas are real, as is the Whidby Island Naval Air Station (the plot location for the 1982 film "An Officer and a Gentleman" with Richard Gere and Debra Winger), Naval Base Kitsap, the Bremerton Naval Yard and the Bangor Trident nuclear ballistic missile submarine base on the Hood Canal.

The trip to Whidby Island Naval Air Station in northern Puget Sound was uneventful. As usual, an Air Force C-130 Hercules cargo plane chauffeured them from Joint Base Andrews to the island base about 90 miles north of Seattle. McGee managed to keep himself occupied with his laptop computer during most of the flight, undoubtedly working on the case. EJ had slept, mercifully, for most of the trip, the thrumming of the plane's props lulling her into slumber – the best sleep she had experienced in weeks.

As she stepped down from the cargo ramp onto the tarmac she inhaled the salt breeze drifting in off the sparkling bay poised at the eastern most edge of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the major waterway flowing out to the Pacific Ocean, one hundred miles away. Looking northwest across the wide expanse of water the islands of the San Juan archipelago glistened emerald green in the morning sun.

Her breath caught for a moment as she looked southwest across the straight toward the jagged and still snowcapped mountain peaks of the Olympic National Park. Turning southeast the massive dome of Mt. Rainier, 14,000 feet high and one of the largest peaks in the continental US, loomed over the horizon like a giant, majestic guardian watching over the entire northwest region of Washington state. Completing her 360 degree turn and looking northeast she saw Mt. Baker at over 10,000 feet in elevation posting sentry duty for the North Cascades Wilderness area.

It had been several years since EJ had visited the Puget Sound and she had forgotten the breath-taking natural beauty of the region. If one turned and looked in any direction they could not help but be confronted by nature parading herself in all of her splendid beauty. It was a magical place; clean, refreshing, full of life. She took in another deep breath of clean salt air and felt a smile curve the corners of her mouth.

She glanced over at McGee and realized he had put his carryon and computer case on the tarmac and just stood, looking at her.

"What?" she said in a sheepish tone. She was beginning to feel a little self-conscious around him.

"Nothing," he smiled back at her.

"Don't 'nothing' me, Tim. What are you thinking?"

"You just look … happy," he said, his smile widening.

"Yeah," she said, pausing to think about his comment. "Yeah … I guess I do feel a little happy right now."

"It's just good to see you smile," he said. "You up for a drive and a ferry ride?"

"Yep. Sounds good. Let's get moving," she said with energy in her voice. She did feel good. Yes, this is just what the doctor ordered, she thought.

After a thirty minute drive south in a sedan checked out from the base motor pool they pulled into the small town of Coupeville and drove onto the ferry for the 35 minute crossing westward over the waters of the Sound to the town of Port Townsend. Parking the car in the lower deck they exited and climbed to the passenger deck. The ferry was large, with a capacity of up to 100 vehicles and several hundred passengers. But the passenger traffic during this mid-morning crossing was light and the deck was relatively empty.

EJ wandered outside to the bow observation deck. Although the sun was out bouncing sparkling diamonds off the surface of the water, the breeze was cool, forcing her to pull her coat up around her neck. She stared out across the water, her mind and body mesmerized as all five senses were bathed in sensation. The sound of the water slapping against the hull danced with the powerful and almost inaudible thrum of the ferry's engines as the behemoth pushed along the surface of the water. The breeze carried with it almost imperceptible droplets of salt water that tingled her face, leaving the bitter taste of sea salt on her tongue. Her eyes were still overwhelmed by mountains and water and islands and the sheer beauty of, what some of the locals called, the Salish Sea.

Lost in the beauty of her surroundings it took a while before she noticed that McGee had walked up next to her, leaning against the railing, looking out over the water.

"This is amazing," he said, awe in his voice.

"Sure is," EJ responded.

"It's different here. Not as crowded as home. Feels cleaner, the air is fresher." McGee observed.

"It is pretty awesome. I wonder if ….," her voice cut off as the sound of a helicopter engine speeding toward them filled their ears.

Looking up and toward the stern they saw it, flying low and at an angle that would take it over and past the ferry on a southern heading as opposed to the ferry's southwesterly course. EJ couldn't take her eyes off of it. Thoughts of it crashing into the water filled her mind. Flashbacks of her nightmares exploded into her awareness. As the helicopter drew closer she felt a chill engulf her body, quickly turning into a coursing anxiety and finally exploding into panic. Her body started to shake involuntarily and she gripped the railing, gasping for breath as it passed overhead.

McGee watched EJ as she almost jumped out of her skin. Just before she couldn't take it any longer and was about to bolt from the deck back inside the ferry, Tim gently placed his hand on hers. She released her grip on the railing and grabbed McGee's hand in return, holding on for dear life as she swallowed hard, struggling to bring her breathing under control. As the helicopter passed overhead and faded into the distance her body calmed. She looked up at Tim, nodding to him with gratitude.

"Sorry," she croaked, still trying to regain her breath, looking back at the water.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he said softly.

A few moments of silence passed and EJ looked back at Tim who had turned his gaze forward again. As she took in his features she noticed a tear running down his cheek. A wave of guilt engulfed her and in that moment she realized she had been so selfish, so self-absorbed. She had forgotten that others who loved Gibbs were also grieving his death. And right now McGee's grief was seeping through his calm exterior. She gave his hand another squeeze and gently pulled his arm so he turned to face her. The anguish on his face was heartbreaking. She looked into his eyes and then gently pulled him to her in an embrace. He didn't hesitate, accepting her comfort and returning it to her as they stood holding each other. After a few minutes they parted and both turned to look back out over the water.

"I only know he was in a helicopter," McGee sighed. "We didn't get much other information."

"I don't know much more either," EJ said. "From what I was told, he was working on a case with a client who happened to own a helicopter and was flying the two of them across the bay to Newport News. No one knows why it crashed. They found the wreckage, but never found the …, "her voice choked off.

McGee looked at her and shook his head, letting her know she need not go on.

Their hands stayed clasped for a few more minutes as the ferry dock came into view. Parting silently they turned and walked from the observation deck.

As she descended the stairs to the car deck in the bowels of the ferry EJ felt her heart and spirit spiraling down as well, descending into a pit of grief of which she was intimately familiar. Like a drowning woman desperately grabbing at a life preserver she tried to hold onto the happiness she had felt for such an unfairly brief amount of time since landing at Whidby and gazing at the beauty of her surroundings. She could feel her grip loosening, the happiness slipping away and the darkness of despair returning to imprison her yet again. As she climbed into the passenger seat she struggled to keep tears from welling up in her eyes, turning away from McGee so he would not witness the pain that had returned to her face.

McGee estimated the drive from Port Townsend to the Bremerton Naval Yard would take about 90 minutes. Even though EJ had seemed happy at the air base he had noticed the change in her demeanor since the helicopter flew over the ferry. It had upset her and she was having a tough time bouncing back. He doubted she would be able to regain her relaxed attitude anytime soon.

As they drove they traded comments about the unique and beautiful scenery. The area was sparsely populated, mostly covered by thick forests of Douglas Fir. Every now and then the trees thinned along the side of the road and they could see past them out into the wide waterway of the Hood Canal as their road paralleled the salt water channel.

"This sure is isolated out here," EJ said quietly, as if speaking to no one in particular while she gazed out the car window.

"Probably why they decided to locate the submarine base out here," he said.

She nodded, staring silently out the window watching the lines on the pavement flash by as they drove down the two lane road. Eventually EJ broke the silence again.

"Got any ideas what the hackers might have been looking for?" she asked, looking over at McGee.

Glad for some conversation McGee launched into the particulars.

"Not a clue," he replied. "The logs from the server at the sub base show it was hacked and files were downloaded. The weird thing is that the files copied don't have any critical information."

"I thought you said the information was classified," she said.

"Yeah ... well …, it's an inter-continental, nuclear ballistic missile, submarine base. Everything is classified, even how much toilet paper they order every month. By the way, that information was included in the material that was copied."

"What information?" she asked, a questioning frown on her face. "You mean their supply requisitions for toilet paper?"

"Yeah," McGee grinned. "Betcha who ever's responsible for that firewall breach is gonna be in the crapper." He chuckled at his pun and EJ rolled her eyes trying to look annoyed. But he could see the smile she was trying to hide. He felt a little more hopeful. EJ might bounce back on this trip after all.

As they approached a major highway cut-off EJ stared at the directional sign. They were to take the southeast cutoff toward the town of Poulsbo, on the way to Bremerton. According to the sign the cut-off going due south would take them to the town of Quilicene about 10 miles from their current location.

"Quilicene. Hum …," EJ said thoughtfully, her eyebrows arching and her eyes turning upwards as if trying to see something inside her mind just behind her forehead.

He glanced over at her, the concentration on her face apparent. He could tell her brain was going a mile a minute. "What about Quilicene?" he asked.

"I know that name. I've heard it or read it somewhere before. I can't remember ...," her voice trailed off as she was caught up in her thoughts again.

"It's a pretty unusual name. I think it's Native American and specific to this region," McGee said. "Are you sure?"

"That's just it," she said as her brow furrowed, "it's unusual, and that's why I remember it. I know I don't have it mixed up with something else. But damned if I can remember."

"Just wait," McGee said. "When you're not thinking about it the memory will pop right into your head."

EJ nodded her agreement.

They continued on their journey to the Bremerton naval yard, chatting about the case and appreciating the beauty surrounding them. Even with their casual conversation it was clear when he looked over at her that she was still thinking about the name, trying to tease out the memory. The harder she tried the more her mood soured and McGee's hope of a pleasant partner for the duration of this assignment began to sour too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In chapter 6 the world is turned upside down.


	6. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New players are revealed, while new questions surface. Things are not as they seem. A case that was once a "piece of cake" now becomes a fight for survival. (Warning: "M" rating for torture.)

Light seeped through his closed eyelids, slowly creeping into his awareness. Agony engulfed him as his head pounded with pain, in sync with each throbbing heartbeat that sent blood rushing to his skull. His tongue felt fuzzy and thick as he licked his dry, cracked lips, feeling and tasting the dried blood encrusting them. As consciousness continued to grow the pain became more acute. He kept his eyes closed for fear they would start the process all over again if they knew he was awake. He mentally searched for a place on his body where pain had given him a reprieve, but no such placed existed. He hurt … everywhere! He lay still, not moving, listening to his breathing as it caught and hitched with each breath, reacting to the excruciating pain pulsing throughout his body.

With his eyes still closed he mentally mapped the small cell, about 10 feet square by 8 feet high, which had been his personal purgatory for – he couldn't remember how long.

A new feeling began to nudge its way to the front of his consciousness – cold. He started to shiver. He could feel nothing covering his skin as he lay on the bare floor. He grimaced at the rough concrete underneath him. He was naked, as he always was when they took him into what they called the 'classroom' for his 'attitude adjustment lessons'. He was regaining consciousness, which meant they had just finished another "lesson" and had thrown him back into his hell-hole.

At first the 'lessons' focused on intensive psychological interrogation techniques – basically mind games involving lies within lies within lies. His prisoner survival training had served him well in resisting their efforts.

As he proved harder to break the lessons had progressed to deprivation techniques, including food, water and the most difficult to deal with – sleep. His captors had removed the sawdust filled bag serving as his bed leaving only the cold, concrete floor to lie down upon, his ragged jeans and ripped polo shirt providing little padding. A bright light recessed behind a mesh metal grate that served as the cell's ceiling was left burning at all times. After what must have been several days – he wasn't sure because he had lost all track of time - the weariness of his body began to overcome the intensity of the blinding light and he had started to succumb to his lack of sleep.

That's when his tormentors started piping painfully loud and random music over a speaker system hidden somewhere behind the ceiling grate. At one point he remembered so desperately needing relief that he tried knock himself out by hitting his head against the wall of his cell. That's when an old metal desk chair had been delivered to his cell and they had zip-cuffed his wrists to the chair arms and his ankles to the chair legs. He thought for sure that he would go mad.

Then, one day, the music stopped and the light went out. He arms and legs were un-cuffed from the chair and rags and water were provided which he used to clean the urine and feces from his body which had collected during his time strapped to the chair. His exhausted and weakened body trembled at the slightest effort and it took him a painstakingly long time – he thought it must have been hours - to achieve what he considered was a minimal level of sanitation.

For several days following, small amounts of water and food were delivered to his cell and he was left alone. All he had strength to do was drink and eat, and sleep - still on the concrete floor - but sleep, none-the-less. After a while he became guardedly optimistic that perhaps his captors had changed their minds about driving him to his death.

But that changed one day when a new tormentor arrived at his cell. He was stripped and taken to another room, one he had not been to before. This new man's ministrations included the old style technique of pummeling him with a heavy phone book.

When that didn't yield the desired results they brought in a livestock water trough, filled it with water, strapped him on his back to a piece of 2 foot wide by 6 foot long plywood board and begin tipping the end of the board where his head rested backwards into the water, which made him feel like he was drowning. After these sessions he started to pass-out, every time – predictable – like clockwork. When regaining consciousness he was always backing in his cell, naked and cold and hurting all over.

He heard the room door creak open. A cold blast of air washed over him starting a new round of even more intense shivering. He heard the _thump_ of something soft hitting the floor next to his head.

"You're disgusting," a gruff voice said. "Get dressed. He wants to talk to you." The man walked out and closed the door, the clacking sound of its deadbolt sliding into place.

He cracked open one eye and spied the bundle of clothing the man had tossed to the floor beside him. Slowly, painfully he rose to his knees and unfolded the bundle – a single jump suit, much like a flight suit. He rose to his unsteady feet. Staggering slightly he stepping over to the wall and leaned against it for support while pulling the jumpsuit over his battered and bruised body. When he finished his was breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face, his body racked with pain. He placed his back to the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor.

Not too long after, a man – he assumed the same one that had thrown the jumpsuit on the floor – came to collect him, guiding him down the hall. Each step was slow and uncertain as he staggered along leaning against the wall to keep from collapsing. With every breath a sharp pain shot up through his left side and into his shoulder – a sure sign that his tormentors had cracked or broken a rib. Every movement was a labor of pain and he continued to sweat profusely.

His vision, still somewhat blurred, was clearing now and he could see his destination - the door at the end of the hallway. As he approached, the door opened and another man stepped out, roughly grabbing his upper arms causing the pain in his shoulders and sides to flare white-hot at the thug's abusive grip. The man dragged him the rest of the way into the room and forced him down onto a metal chair sitting in the room's center. Grateful to be sitting down and that the thug's hands were off him he slowly surveyed the room. The only other item present was a chair identical to his, situated six feet in front of him. It wasn't long after his harsh delivery to the room that the door opened again and another man entered. He walked over to the other chair, sat down, leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, looking as relaxed as if he was sitting in his own living room.

The man was tall and slim, probably in his early 50's, with a gaunt, lean look to his face, neck and arms. His pale skin was almost paper white. A generous amount of gel slicked his long, jet-black hair over his scalp, temples and down the back of his head and neck ending just above his collar line. Dark brown eyes peered out from narrow eyelids under thick eyebrows, the same jet-black color as his hair. A long, sharp nose was set noticeably off-center to the right, undoubtedly the consequence of someone breaking it for him. His mouth was large - too large to fit the rest of his face – with thick, oversized lips which were currently turned upward curving into a barely noticeable smirk. His excessively long ears stuck out from the side of his head, another part of him that was too big for his face. He looked like a villain from one of those black and white graphic novels that McGee favored.

He locked eyes with the greasy haired man, meeting his unspoken challenge, silently and openly defying the man and his continued attempts to break him. This bastard had come to meet with him twice since he arrived in his purgatory, each time touting the futility of resistance and the rewards of cooperation. He guessed that because he had not succumbed to their torture yet that the man was there to make another attempt at brow-beating him into cooperation. The tall man called himself Rathburn. He knew if the chance presented itself he would kill Rathburn with his bare hands. But, even though it was only he and Rathburn in the room, there was nothing he could do because his weak and pained body would barely support his own weight as he struggled to sit upright in the chair.

Rathburn must have finally tired of their staring match because he broke the silence with his nasally, high pitched voice that perfectly fit his graphic novel villainous persona.

"Well, Mr. Gibbs, how are we doing today?" he smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, Gibbs finds himself in a no-win situation and a decision to make that will cost lives, not matter what.


	7. Tormentor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every minute he's alive means someone close to him might die. With no escape, Gibbs makes the ultimate decision.

Gibbs said nothing, continuing to stare at Rathburn, unmoving.

"You seem very tired, Mr Gibbs. I know you must also be experiencing a great deal of pain – that is, if my men are doing their jobs correctly," his smirk widened.

Gibbs continued his silence.

"Your plight is hopeless, Mr. Gibbs. There is no escape and no one is looking for you. The helicopter crash - and your assumed death - that my men staged was quite convincing." Sarcasm dripped from his voice, "I even have pictures from your funeral. It was a sad affair. Would you like to see them?"

Rathburn turned his attention to grooming his hands as he pushed down the cuticles of his fingernails.

"There is no need for you to continue to suffer like this. I only ask for a very minimal amount of cooperation. The information I seek is hardly that important and certainly not worth the price you are paying," his tone had turned matter-of-fact, as if he was discussing something mundane.

Gibbs shifted slightly in his chair and immediately regretted it when a sharp jolt shot up his side and his breath hitched. As he stilled, the pain subsided and he continued his silent scrutiny of the man in front of him.

"The information I desire about NCIS investigation protocols clearly is not that important or damaging. I find it all rather interesting. I'm just a … curious man with an obsession. Call me a 'fan' of NCIS, if you will. Why on earth would you continue to subject yourself to these 'attitude adjustment' sessions when it really is unnecessary? Be reasonable, Mr Gibbs."

"Fuck you," Gibbs said, his voice raspy and hoarse.

"He speaks," Rathburn said sarcastically, turning his attention from his hands back to Gibbs. "That's good. That's encouraging. We're starting to communicate, you and I." He leaned forward in his chair. "Please, let's continue. I think we're making excellent progress."

Gibbs wanted to lean forward and spit in his face to show the contempt and disgust he felt for the man, but his throat and mouth were parched and knew it would be a futile gesture.

"Glad you're happy," Gibbs retorted, continuing to stare at the man.

"Mr Gibbs, I am a patient man. I have been extraordinarily patient with you over these past many weeks. I've allowed you to move along at your own pace as we have engaged in this lengthy and …," he paused, lifting his eyes upwards, thinking for the correct euphemism, "… challenging endeavour."

Gibbs snorted loudly and now it was his turn to smirk. In this moment Rathburn was so full of himself, his ego and eccentricity oozing out in his words and mannerisms. His behavior was so obvious that even Rathburn couldn't help but grasp the absurdity of his pompousness.

Rathburn snapped his head back down and glowered at Gibbs, his breathing grew labored, seething. His veneer of sophistication and eloquence disappeared in front of Gibbs eyes. A dark scowl replaced his smirk, his eyes flashed with anger and his voice was slow and menacing, "I will break you. You will tell me what I want to know."

"Like hell," Gibbs growled back, his own scowl meeting Rathburn's.

As quickly as Rathburn had lost his composure, he regained it. He stood up, walked around behind his chair, turned facing Gibbs and placed both hands on the back of the empty chair. His face had calmed, the rage in his eyes subsided.

He looked thoughtful again. "Mr Gibbs, I have considered our current situation carefully and, although I am hesitant to pursue other persuasive options, I find that my time is fleeting and I must resort to other strategies."

Now that Rathburn was standing up Gibbs had to position his upper body back into the chair so he could lift up his head in order to see the man. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain at the effort. His stomach started to churn and he wasn't sure which would happen first, puking his guts out on the floor or passing out in the chair. Still, he struggled to keep his attention focused on Rathburn. Clearly the man intended to add another threat to the current mix of torture and Gibbs wanted to know what to expect next.

"You know," Rathburn drawled out, "it is not only you that might suffer as the result of your lack of cooperation." He locked eyes with Gibbs.

The meaning of Rathburn's implied threat to his friends was clear. He waited for Rathburn to continue, to go off on another of his egocentric tirades. But his tormentor said nothing more. Instead he summoned the thug just outside the door, directing him to return Gibbs to his cell.

As Gibbs was lifted up from the chair he continued to lock eyes with Rathburn until he was turned around and escorted out the door, back down the hall and thrown into his cell.

He laid on the floor curled into a fetal position to conserve his body's warmth, thankful for the respite from sitting. Laying on the hard floor was not the most comfortable of positions, but his muscles were able to relax, which they could not do sitting in the chair, and he was relatively pain free as long as he didn't move. They had let him keep his jumpsuit – for the moment anyway – and he was grateful for the minimal protection it provided against the cold concrete.

Gibbs considered his predicament. He had known for some time his situation was dire. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that eventually Rathburn will kill him, whether or not he extracted the information he wanted from Gibbs. Up to now, Gibbs' knew his only chance to stay alive was to endure the torture and look for a way to escape. Time had been on his side.

But now…! Now, things had changed; the situation had been redefined. Rathburn said his time was 'fleeting'. He needed the information about NCIS soon and Gibbs was certain that whatever information he wanted would result in the death of others. As with any information, there comes a point in time when it is no longer valuable and Gibbs guessed that point was fast approaching regarding the information Rathburn wanted from him. Rathburn had just changed the rules of this game. Now, the longer he stayed alive without divulging the information Rathburn sought, the more his friends were at risk of death. And he had no doubt that Rathburn would kill them to get what he wanted. Time wasn't on Gibbs' side any longer. Time had become his enemy.

He considered the new information obtained from Rathburn and his cold and calculating sniper training kicked in as he analyzed the situation. No matter which way he looked at it, no matter how many combinations of variables he tallied, he came up with only three options.

Option one: continue to resist – fighting off the torture from Rathburn and his thugs. Results: information protected and lives saved; some of his friends would be killed in Rathburn's attempt to make him break; he would eventually be killed by Rathburn.

Option two: give Rathburn the information he wants. Results: information in Rathburn's hands would most likely result in the death of others; his friends would be safe and spared from Rathburn's death sentence; he would be killed by Rathburn.

Option three: suicide. Results: information protected and lives saved; his friends would be safe from Rathburn; he would be dead.

He wasn't surprised at the results of his analysis. In all three options he was dead. There was no other way out for him. The chance for an escape had not presented itself and probably would not, no matter how much longer he waited. And waiting was not an option any more.

In options one and two, not only did he end up dead, but so did others. In option one it was most likely that innocent people would die as collateral damage from whatever use Rathburn had for the information he wanted from Gibbs. In option two Gibbs's friends would end up dead. Only option three protected both unknown innocents and his friends while his death was inevitable, no matter which of the three scenarios played out.

Gibbs' thoughts filled with a vision of EJ. He opened his eyes which welled with tears. He murmured a silent apology, begging for forgiveness and confessing the depth of his love – wishing that she could hear him, could know what was in his heart at that moment.

He swallowed hard, steeling his resolve as he made his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Chapter 8 will EJ's trust in an old friend be used to take advantage of her?


	8. Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGee steps up to protect EJ when he fears she is being taken advantage of as the result of her vulnerability.

As they walked into the Bremerton NCIS field office McGee noted it was smaller than the DC office. The bullpen for the MCRT (there was only one team at Bremerton) looked similar to theirs back home; desks close together, several computer monitors on each, a large plasma screen mounted to the wall at the far end of the work area easily viewable from any desk. The entire South facing wall of the building was composed of windows looking out over the bay with a view of the various dry dock repair facilities. From his vantage point in the third floor office he could see a Nimitz class nuclear powered aircraft carrier in dry-dock for repair; further east a nuclear fast attack submarine rested in its own dry-dock.

As they approached the bullpen Christopher Bishop looked up and smiled when he recognized them.

"Hey, McGee!" Bishop reached out and shook Tim's hand.

"Hi Chris," McGee nodded his greeting.

Turning to EJ, Bishop's grin grew wider, "Hi, boss!"

"Hey, Chris," she said, smiling back at him. "Only you're the boss now and I'm back to 'Field Agent'."

"From what I hear, that's only temporary. You just need to stop running your agents off," he chuckled.

McGee knew EJ liked Bishop and the smile she returned to him was genuine. But he also could hear the slight embarrassment in her voice regarding her current status of not being the Agent Charge of an active MCRT. Bishop had been one of the initial members of her team after she transferred in from the NCIS field office in Rota, Spain, but he had been transferred to Bremerton about 5 months ago, only two months after EJ's return.

Bishop walked over to EJ, put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. "It's gonna be alright, EJ," he said quietly. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you." He pulled her into a tight embrace and rocked her back and forth.

The brief look of surprise on EJ's face at Bishop's overt affection didn't escape McGee's notice. As Bishop embraced her EJ hesitated, then slowly brought her arms up and returned his hug. Tim noted that Bishop's hug lasted a little longer than necessary and the intimacy of it suggested more than collegial support. He was surprised as he felt his neck hairs bristle while his breathing quickened, struggling for a moment as he tried to determine why his defenses just went up. A second later he identified the source of his discomfort - he was feeling protective of his partner. On this case EJ was his partner and partners always had each other's back. EJ was vulnerable right now, drowning in the grief of Gibbs death and Bishop's overt willingness to comfort her struck him as disingenuous at best and opportunistic at worst.

There had been plenty of normal workplace banter between EJ and Bishop back in DC. They exchanged the teasing and jokes typical among team members. Certainly, EJ's team had been no different than his own when it came to good natured harassment of each other. But there had been an obvious flirtatious attraction between the two; a chemistry that was easy and natural. EJ had tried to keep things light and personal between her team members, but she had also been clear to everyone that she and Gibbs were together and that she was "off the market" regarding potential relationships.

As Bishop slowly released his grip on EJ, rubbing her back with his hand as he stepped back, McGee made a mental note to have a discussion with him later, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he needed to back-off of any thoughts about pursuing a relationship with EJ; that she was too vulnerable and still grieving Gibbs' death.

"Hey, Brogan, Andrews, come over here," Bishop called over to the two men standing by the plasma screen. "This is my team," he said to Tim and EJ, pointing to each agent respectively, "Mike Brogan and Phil Andrews. Guys, meet my ex-boss, EJ Barrett and our NCIS computer guru, Tim McGee." The four agents exchanged greetings and handshakes.

After the pleasantries finished Bishop walked toward the plasma screen and grabbed the remote off one of the desks. When he clicked it a photograph appeared on the screen; an aerial view of a large, triangular shaped dock complex and dry-dock installation on the shores of a remote waterway. The installation was surrounded by lush, green forests that ran from inland all the way up to the shoreline.

"OK," he said, "here's what we've got. This is the Bangor Base. As you know it's a Trident nuclear ballistic missile submarine base about 35 miles northwest of here. That's where the computer server was hacked and the document files copied." He clicked the remote again and several pages appeared on the screen. "This is an inventory list of the compromised computer files."

"There must be a couple of thousand files," McGee groaned.

"Over ten thousand," Bishop smirked at McGee.

"What about base security?" EJ asked. "Any concerns or weird things happen lately?"

"Nothing," Mike Brogan said, joining the conversation.

As Brogan spoke Bishop brought the picture of the sub base back up on the screen and zoomed out to show more of the surrounding terrain.

Brogan continued, "You can see the base is pretty remote. The security perimeter is at least a mile in any direction - heck, the road from the base main gate to the actual facility is almost 2 miles long. There's hardly any population out there; it's pretty rural. No main highways, just two lane country roads."

"What about across the canal?" EJ asked.

This time Phil Andrews jumped in. "The Hood Canal is about 2000 yards across at that point, so the shore opposite the facility is a little over a mile away. Because of all of the military installations in the Puget Sound area a synchronous orbiting satellite provides video surveillance 24 hours a day, 7 day a week of the entire region. Base security monitors the video feed closely, as well as copies the feed to a hard drive. They've seen nothing unusual so far."

"And you don't know how or why the server was hacked or have any suspicion as to what the hacker was looking for?" McGee asked.

"Nope," Bishop responded. "That's your job, McGee. Good luck."

Tim rolled his eyes and let out a weary sigh. "Got a computer for me?"

"Yeah," Bishop replied. "Right over there," he pointed to a conference room just off the main bullpen, the wall adjoining the two rooms consisting of a large glass window. "Fastest computer in the office and linked directly into the Bangor network, plus, lots of space to spread out."

"Well," McGee said, looking from Bishop to EJ, "I'd better get at it." He hefted his backpack and travel case and walked into the conference room, unpacked his gear onto the table and sat down in front of the computer which sat on a separate, portable rolling workstation next to the conference table.

As he organized himself to begin his work he continued to glance out of the window into the bullpen. He couldn't hear the conversation but Bishop continued to smile and talk enthusiastically with EJ; occasionally touching her hand and brushing her arm - way too much as far as Tim was concerned. His anger and defensiveness toward Bishop continued to simmer.

About an hour had passed when McGee jumped in his chair, startled by a soft touch on his shoulder. Turning he realized it was EJ. Completely immersed in his work he had not heard her enter the conference room.

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish smile.

Tim sat back and rubbed his fists into blurry eyes. "It's OK. I needed a break anyway."

"What'cha got, McGee," EJ said as she examined the computer screen.

Tim cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her, amused that she had 'channeled' Gibbs once again. He knew she understood his expression when she apologized. "Sorry ..., again," she said. "Gonna be tough to break that habit."

"No need to apologize," Tim said. "It's kinda nice. Brings back good memories of the boss."

EJ returned his smile, but he could see in her eyes that his comment had reopened the door to her grief and it was seeping into her awareness. He gave himself a mental head-slap, took in a deep breath, then let it out and continued.

"From what I can tell the actual hack was a simple frontal attack on the server firewall. Even though all materials at the Bangor base are classified, the information on this particular server consists of low-level, classified materials. So, they're not located on a high security level server, like the ones at the Pentagon."

EJ's attention had returned to the computer screen and she smiled and cocked her head to the side. "So, how much toilet paper did they order last week," she said, sarcastically.

McGee let out a soft chuckle. "Haven't got that far yet." His expression became serious as he turned back to the computer screen. "It's obvious this was a targeted attack. They were definitely looking for something and knew it was on the Bangor server."

EJ frowned. "What do we ... ah, sorry. What do _you_ do now?"

"I need to write a basic sub-routine to search all of the compromised files for specific key-words that could be linked to any type of risk or threat." He continued, "Homeland Security has master list of these types of key-words. The program I write will extract and catalogue those keywords from the scanned information based on Homeland Security's threat priority and from there we have to 'eyeball' the results manually and look for patterns or possible risks."

"How long will that take?" she asked.

"The sub-routine is the easy part. I can write that program in about an hour. But it will probably take all night for the program to scan all of the compromised files and build the catalogue of keyword hits." He sighed and dropped his shoulders. "I have to monitor the search progress, which means I'm gonna have a long night. The hard part will be going over the results manually."

"My team can help with that." It was Bishop. McGee hadn't noticed his arrival in the conference room. He was standing behind EJ, his hands on her shoulders, obviously having heard most of McGee's explanation. "When can we get started?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," McGee replied. "I'll start the scan ASAP and tomorrow morning we should have data we can review."

"Well, since McGee's stuck here all night ...," Bishop paused, looking at EJ, "dinner?"

She looked at McGee, then to Bishop, then brought her attention back to McGee, a guilty look on her face.

"It's OK," McGee told her. "There's nothing you can do right now. I'll have some take-out delivered. Go and enjoy yourself."

EJ turned back to Bishop. "Sounds like a plan."

"Good," Bishop said. "We'll take off around 1730 hours. Until then, I've got a couple of cases to work on. Want to tag along?"

She looked over at McGee and he nodded, letting her know he didn't need her assistance and that going with Bishop's team was fine by him.

She nodded back to him and turned to Bishop, "I'm all yours."

McGee caught Bishop's grin at EJ's comment, which was a little too enthusiastic as far has he was concerned. As Bishop and EJ stepped out of the room McGee called after the agent, "Hey, Chris. Got a minute?"

Bishop nodded at EJ and she continued out of the room. He turned back to McGee. Tim got up, walked over and closed the door. Facing Bishop he squared his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. "I just wanted to let you know EJ is still hurting a lot about Gibbs' death. I know it's none of my business, but she's pretty fragile and vulnerable right now and I'm wondering what your intentions are toward her."

Immediately Bishop's face changed to a scowl. "What are you implying, McGee?"

"Nothing. I just don't want EJ to get hurt, that's all."

"EJ's a big girl. She can take care of herself." Bishop said as he leaned aggressively toward McGee.

McGee's throat tightened with anger and fear. He had no doubt that Bishop could hurt him easily if provoked; his Army training and experience spoke to that potential. But Tim was mad now and had a point to make.

"Look, Chris," his voice was strained as he mustered the courage to stand toe-to-toe with the ex-Ranger, "if you're really her friend then you'll protect her, not hurt her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That her friends look out for her – we're all looking out for her; me, Craig, Tony, Ziva."

"Is that a threat?" Bishop's scowled hardened, his voice was cold.

"I don't know what it is …," McGee's voice trailed off as he sighed and shrugged, growing tired of Bishop's testosterone display; ironically feeling less threatened as Bishop became more tense. "It is what it is. It's what we do for family. Leave her alone, Chris."

"You were right, McGee," Bishop sneered, "it is none of your business. And you just need to … _butt … out!_ " he punctuated the last two words by poking his finger in McGee's chest.

With one last glare at McGee, Bishop turned and stalked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter will Gibbs escape or face death?


	9. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibbs runs for his life with bad guys hot on his heels.

"He _what_ …?!" Rathburn hissed out at the man in front of him, the menace in his voice matched by the rage in his eyes.

"Escaped, sir," the burly man cringed, taking a slight step back from his boss who sat behind an office style desk, leaning forward, his hands turning white from their vice-like grasp on its edge.

"How?" his voice was quieter, dripping with contempt.

The man swallowed hard past his adam's apple, sweat breaking out on his brow. Hooking a finger in his collar he tugged at it nervously. "The cell door latch wasn't completely locked," he croaked.

"Who?" Rathburn's gaze was white-hot on the man.

"Ah …," the man paused and looked at the floor, swallowed hard again before looking back up at his boss.

"I think it was me sir," he shuffled his feet back and forth. He continued, nervously, "After I gave him his food one of the guys yelled that a car was coming up the driveway. I ran upstairs to check it out. The people in the car had the wrong address. I think when I left I didn't double check the latch."

"You think!?" Rathburn spat back at the man.

"I'm sorry boss. It won't happen again, I swear!"

Rathburn turned away from the man, staring down, deep in thought. After a few moments his shoulders relaxed, he released is grip on the desk and placed his hands in his lap. He looked back at the nervous man, the hint of a smile on face.

As he spoke his voice was soft and precise, lacking the menace it held just a few seconds before, "I'm sure you're sorry. I know it won't happen again."

The burly man heaved a sigh of relief, raising his hand to wipe his brow.

Rathburn reached under his desktop and quickly jerked his hand back up grasping a Beretta nine millimeter pistol and snapped off a shot. The bullet entered the man's skull through his left eye. His lifeless body collapsed to the concrete floor before his hand had the chance to drop from his forehead.

"Darrow!" Rathburn shouted. Another heavily muscled man stepped inside from the hallway.

"Yeah, boss," he said, nodding at Rathburn, then grimacing at the body on the floor.

"Get someone to clean this up."

"Right away, sir."

"And Darrow …"

"Yes sir?"

"Take Williams and go find Gibbs. He can't have gone far – he's not in any condition to run." Rathburn looked thoughtful for a moment and continued, "Be fast and be discrete! We don't want the satellite images to show a lot of movement. You got that?"

"Yes sir, I'm on it," Darrow said turning to leave and carryout his orders.

Pain seared up through Gibbs' side and into his chest with each shuddering breath, making sure he did not forget his broken rib. With each torturous step he gulped for air and fought the nausea burning its way up his throat. His vision blurred with spikes of stabbing pain behind his forehead causing him to feel light-headed. His pulse pounded in his ears making it hard to hear anything other than his labored breathing. Still, he pushed forward through the forest, every few steps grabbing onto a tree or bush to support his weight and to rest for the briefest of moments. He feared he might pass-out any time, so he struggled to put as much distance between him and the house as he could.

A short time earlier when he had exited through his unlocked cell door he had been surprised at the absence of guards in the hallway. As he climbed the stairs into what he recognized as a kitchen he had heard the sound of men elsewhere in the house. Grabbing onto the kitchen counters for support he clawed his way over to a door opening outside to what must have been the back of the house. Making his way across a small field he had staggered into the tree line, disappearing into the forest bordering the several acres of fields surrounding the house.

His head pounded as he pushed himself forward, wanting to stop – to rest, but knowing that to do so meant certain death at the hands of Rathburn. His aching legs complained at the burden placed upon them, rebelling against him by refusing to lift his feet high enough to escape the grasp of a tree root here and a fallen limb there. With each stumble and fall he stifled a groan of pain as he struggled to regain his feet, each time taking longer to recover and move on. He knew at this pace he would not last long; that Rathburn's men would be on him soon. They must have discovered he had escaped and already started their search. He had to do something soon, but what?

He pushed past a huckleberry bush which mercilessly grabbed his ankle and tripped him. As he sprawled forward he broke through a line of undergrowth, rolling onto hard ground covered by smooth rocks of various sizes, most about the size of a silver dollar. Grimacing in pain for a few moments he slowly opened his eyes and looked around. Behind him was the forest he had just broken out of. In front of him was a long, wide body of water. The ground slopped downward to the water's edge about 40 feet in front of him and he caught the familiar smell of salt water and the bitter tang of exposed seaweed on the larger rocks by the water's edge. The fog in his mind cleared slightly and his surprise muted his pain. He was on a beach. This was salt water and the tide was out.

He looked up and out onto the body of water and stared in disbelief at the sight in front of him. Thinking he must be hallucinating from the pain and lack of sleep he shook his head hard, hoping to force any specter out of his mind and allow him to see clearly.

Refocusing his gaze on the other shore it was still there – a huge, long, black _submarine!_ Not just one submarine, but _two_ submarines tied to a docking facility. And not just any submarines, he recognized these; Trident nuclear ballistic missile submarines. His sniper's skill provided an immediate estimate of the distance to the other side at about 2000 yards. His mind strained against the fatigue and pain as he processed the information. There was only one place on earth with a Trident nuclear sub base like this, the Bangor base on the Hood Canal in Washington State.

For a moment he forgot his pain as a smile formed on his cracked and bloodied lips. This was good. He knew where he was – although for the life of him he had no idea why Rathburn had brought him all the way to the other side country. But knowing his location was a vital piece of information and the more information he had the better his chance of getting out of this alive, albeit a slim chance. Maybe he wouldn't have to take his own life after all. His thoughts raced, calculating his next move.

The canal was too far across to swim - even if he had not been injured - and right now he wouldn't make it 50 yards. The base was too far away to yell for help and if he called out Rathburn's search party would descend on him quickly. He brought his attention from the submarine base back to his immediate situation. His Marine survival training took over. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for anything he could use. Perhaps he could find a log that would support him like a life preserver as he paddled across the canal – but all the driftwood on the beach was too small. Perhaps he could find something to try and send some type of visual signal - but his searching eyes found nothing to help.

Then he caught a glimpse of something about 50 yards down the beach, at the edge of where the beach met the forest. It was an aluminum boat, about 10 feet long, with a small, black outboard motor on the back. Maybe that was his answer.

Covering the distance to the boat renewed the pain in every part of his body and he felt noticeably weaker than he had earlier. His time was running out and soon he would drop from exhaustion, ensuring his pursuers would eventually find him. As he approached the boat he heard voices calling out to each other back in the forest. They sounded familiar, probably some of the men charged with guarding him. Rathburn had definitely mounted a retrieval party and they were getting close, easily following his trail of crushed bushes and disturbed ground cover. He wouldn't be able to get the boat in the water and out of range of their weapons in time.

Stepping up to the boat his mind frantically searched for something, anything he could use to increase his chance of survival. He only had minutes left before the men followed his trail to the beach and found him. Looking down into the small boat he surveyed the contents. Life jacket, paddle, one fishing pole, one small tackle box, a coil of rope, a can of paint and a paint brush, and a gas can for the motor. The aluminum boat had wooden seats in it, like a canoe, and the back seat by the motor had a fresh coat of paint, obviously from the can of paint sitting on the boat's floor. He surmised that the boat probably belonged to someone who lived locally and this was their spot for the boat when they pulled it out of the water in between uses.

Voices wafted through the air, landing on his ears again. They sounded closer. He was almost out of time. He turned and looked back across the canal at the submarine base just a mile away, but it might as well have been a light year away for all the good it would do him.

Suddenly he snapped his head back around to the boat. His brows came together and the creases in his forehead grew deeper as he thought hard about the idea crystalizing in his brain. It might work. Yes, it might just work. It was a long-shot, but the only shot he had right now. He had to work fast.

He reached down and grabbed the can of paint and the small, stiff brush. He threw open the tackle box and found a small knife, using it to pry the top off the can. His movements were fast and focused, although somewhat uncoordinated due to his fatigue and pain, but he had to do this quickly. He dipped the brush into the can several times as he scrawled onto the center, wooden seat of the boat.

Finishing, he dropped the paint can on the rocks by his feet and walked around to the back of the boat by the motor and started to pull the small boat backwards over the rocks and down the beach toward the water's edge. Every muscle burned, every fiber of his body ached and his breathing was shallow and rasping as he struggled, inch by inch, to pull the boat to the shoreline. He almost passed out and had to stop momentarily to steady himself on the side of the boat and allow the dizziness to pass, then continued, gritting through the pain until, at last, the boat was in the water.

He pulled the boat out, walking into the water up to his waist. Pausing for a moment he listened and heard the men's voices. Only moments separated him from his pursuers. He tilted the outboard motor down into the water and reached to the side to push the gas primer pump button, once, twice, three times. Praying the motor would cooperate and start he pulled on the starter rope. The engine sputtered and choked, but failed to start. The effort had almost exhausted him. He wasn't sure he had another pull in him. Bracing himself he took one deep, painful breath and pulled the rope again. The engine coughed to life.

He quickly turned the motor so it would push the boat out across the canal on a vector just a little north of the submarine base. He knew the men must have heard the outboard motor by now and they would surely head straight toward the sound and find him on the beach. He sloshed back up onto the shore and collapsed on the rocks.

Pain and exhaustion pushed at his consciousness, encroaching upon it, trying to dissolve it and take it away. The two gloating faces looming over him were the last things he saw before the blackness overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter will EJ succumb to her grief and her attraction to another man?


	10. Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recaptured and unconscious, Gibbs' spirit is loosing ground, his life force fading away. Will a vison of the two loves of his life be enough to save him?

"Where did you find him?" Rathburn directed his question to the thug named Darrow standing beside him as he looked down at Gibbs lying unconscious on the floor, once again in his cell.

"The beach, about a mile east," Darrow said.

"And you're sure he contacted no one?"

"Pretty sure, boss. He tried to get away in a small pram but he must have fallen out. He was soaked and collapsed on the beach while the motor was running and the boat was way out into the canal."

"How long has he been unconscious?"

"Since we found him, about six hours. I checked about 5 pm to see if he was awake, but he was still out cold." The thug looked at his watch, "that was about four hours ago. He hasn't moved a muscle."

Darrow looked at Rathburn cautiously, "I tried to find you, boss, as soon as we got him back."

"Yes, yes, I know. I was otherwise occupied. Don't worry, I am quite satisfied with your work on this little project. Good job."

Darrow nodded, but continued his cautious sideways glances at Rathburn. "What now, boss?"

"I believe it's time to go "all-in", Rathburn said. Did Simons prepare the newspaper articles, videos and web pages?"

"Yeah, he showed me this morning. His stuff is ready to go, boss."

"Excellent," Rathburn crooned, rubbing his hands together. "And the locket? Do you have it?"

Darrow reached into his pocket and produced a silver cameo locket with a white shell rose mounted on black onyx. "This was a bitch to get. I had to wait until she was in the shower and then sneak into the bathroom and grab it off the counter. I almost got caught." He handed it to Rathburn.

"This should convince Gibbs that he has utterly and completely failed," Rathburn said, a ruthless smile on his lips as he absently turned the locket over and over in his hand.

"This will finally break him," he continued, "and none too soon. I need to know those investigation protocols now in order to avoid making the same mistakes we did with our chemical bomb fiasco in Virginia."

Darrow remained silent, but nodded his understanding.

"Keep your eye on him and get me as soon as he wakes up. Do you understand me? As soon as he wakes up!" Rathburn ordered as they walked out of the cell.

"Sure thing, boss," Darrow said, as he made doubly sure that he latched the door tight.

Everything was black. There was no sound. There was no pain. The lack of pain caught Gibbs' attention. He blinked and stared harder, but the black remained. He struggled to engage his senses as his mind moved sluggishly, suffused with thick, formless memories and foggy feelings.

_What am I doing here?_ he thought. _Where the hell is 'here'?_

A soft, lilting voice reached his ears. A woman's voice, singing a sweet, soothing melody. It sounded like a lullaby. The voice was hauntingly familiar. He closed his eyes since there was nothing but black, in order to concentrate harder, listen closer. When he opened them the blackness was gone, replaced everywhere by white; the singing now coming from behind him.

He turned toward the voice and saw a beautiful woman in a flowing white dress, sitting on a slatted bench, also white. He knew she was beautiful, but strangely his mind couldn't distinguish her features other than her eyes. He could see her sitting there, but it was as if he felt her more than saw her. She smiled as he caught her eyes, continuing to hum her song.

She motioned for him to come closer and placed her hand on the bench beside her indicating he should sit. He willed himself to move toward her, not sure if he was walking or floating. As he approached she stopped humming and looked up at him, her smile soft and warm. As he sat down he never looked away from her eyes.

He basked in her presence and a sense of peace spread throughout his body. She was beautiful and warm and gentle … and familiar. His mind struggled - trying to remember how he knew her - while his body remained restful, thankfully free of pain. He felt … content.

"You still don't recognize me, do you, Jethro," her speech was as sweet as her singing.

He shook his head.

"Remember this song," it was a statement, not a question, followed by her humming a few bars of the song she had been singing just a few moments before.

A memory slowly took shape; a specter of thought emerging from a mist. The song was familiar, comforting. A lullaby. A lullaby ... for Kelly. A lullaby that Shannon would sing to Kelly. Although surprised, the calm still embraced him.

"Now you know," she said.

"Yes," he answered.

Although he still couldn't distinguish her features, he recognized her eyes. They were Shannon's eyes, he had no doubt.

She nodded her head, her smile widening just a little.

"I've missed you," he said.

"Oh, Jethro, I've missed you too.

"Where are we?"

"In between," she responded.

"In between life and death?" he asked.

"Yes … and no," she responded, matter-of-factly. "We're just … in between. In between life and death, consciousness and unconsciousness, waking and dreaming, present and past, present and future. Just … in between."

"Can I stay here with you?" he asked.

At his question her smiled saddened. "You can choose to do that, if you want," she said. "But you can choose to stay in the world as well."

"Why would I choose that?"

"Because there people that still need you," she responded.

"Who? Why?" he asked, his mind still foggy and confused.

"All of the people that will die if you give up now. All of the friends that love you. And Erica …," her voice faded off.

"You know about Erica?" his confusion growing.

Her smile turned happy again, "of course I know about Erica."

"I still love you," he said, gazing into her eyes.

"I know you do," she said. "And you always will. And I will always love you. But it's right for you to love Erica now. She is a beautiful person, Jethro, and she loves you more than you know. I am so happy for you."

"I don't know what to do," he said, looking down at the hands she held clasped in her lap.

"Yes, you do, Jethro. Follow your heart. It brought you to me. It brought you to Erica. Do what will make you happy."

He nodded and as she spoke he felt his mind clear and his confusion fade.

"How do I go back?" he said.

At his question he could feel her joy and see her smile beaming.

"You're already on the way," she said. "But you can't do it by yourself, Jethro. You're weak and need help."

"Help? But how? Can you help me?"

"No, Jethro, not me. Someone else. Don't worry. Everything is in motion."

"I don't understand," he said.

"You will soon. You'll be OK. I have to go now, Jethro."

She reached up and gently touched his cheek. He raised his hand to touch hers and as he did her body slowly dissolved into a million shimmering points of light, spinning around themselves and twirling up and away. As the sparkling lights disappeared the melody began again, a soft humming permeating the space around him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement. Turning toward it he spied a petite woman moving toward him. An aura of color radiated off her body. Her smile made the whiteness surrounding him even brighter. His heart swelled in his chest and a glowing warmth radiated deep inside him.

She stopped in front of him, holding out her hands. He hesitated, not wanting her to disappear if he touched her. She smiled and nodded, indicating he should take her hands. Gently reaching out he slid his palms into hers.

"Erica, how can you be here?" his confusion had returned.

Smiling she shook her head, "I don't know, Jethro."

"But you're here, right?" he asked.

"I must be somewhere. I'm here with you. I can feel your love for me. Can you feel my love for you?" she asked.

Closing his eyes he let her aura wash over him, filling him with the same warmth and peace he had felt earlier.

"Yes," he said.

Her face grew somber, her voice pleading, "come back to me, Jethro. I need you more than you know."

"I don't know how. I don't know if I'm strong enough."

"Take my strength," she said, her eyes locked with his.

"How?"

"Touch me."

"I am touching you."

"No, Jethro. I mean _touch_ me."

He hesitated.

"Please, touch me, Jethro."

A sudden pang of fear flared in his mind. What if he couldn't go back? What if he hurt her? What if he pulled her into this place with no way out?

"I need you to touch me," her voice was anxious, insistent. "That's how I can give you my strength. That's how I've always given you my strength."

"I'm afraid you'll disappear," he whispered, "or that I'll trap you here with me.

"I need you to trust me, Jethro. I don't know how or why, but I can feel it – all around me. I know you need to touch me in order to come back to me."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know you won't hurt me. Jethro, I might have to go soon, I'm not sure. I don't know how this is happening. Please Jethro, we may not have much time," she was pleading now.

Pushing down the panic rising in his chest he nodded. Still holding her hands he stood and looked down at her.

She stood before him her mind and body open to him. He moved both hands to her face, gently caressing her cheeks, thumbs softly rubbing the corners of her mouth, her lower lip, her chin. Smiling, she closed her eyes and sighed. His fingers and hands tingled, the warm flow of energy moving up his arms, trickling into his shoulders. A feeling sparked to life in his stomach - he recognized his love for her smoldering as it slowly moved into his chest, joining the steady and strong beat of his heart.

His fingers trailed down her neck, mapping the tendons trailing down into her shoulders; stroking her skin as his hands moved slowly down her arms and then, just as slowly, back up. He could feel the warmth of her bare skin under his hands, smooth and soft and familiar. For a heartbeat he realized she wore no clothes; her body was completely revealed to him. But for some reason that was not surprising, not wrong. He felt, more than thought, that in this instant her vulnerability was right, normal.

Her eyes still closed, her smile still present, she hummed softly as he traced her collarbone down toward the center of her chest. His eyes took in the swell of her breasts, while his fingers ghosted over their velvet softness, moving in slow circles, caressing each as she arched into him, a soft sigh escaped her throat. The warmth of her energy crawled further into his chest and stomach; filling him, calming him

She was beautiful - beyond words. Her body was exquisite; supple, softly curved, responsive and alive. She was _alive._ The energy she shared with him was _alive._ He could feel it coursing into him now, building strength – her essence moving through him, every cell bathed in light.

As her power pushed through him his focus intensified. His hands now seemed to have a mind of their own as they slid down her sides, exploring her waist, following the curve of her hips, the swell of her thighs, with a need to feel more, to touch more. His right hand moved to her back, rubbed up and down exploring the muscles in her shoulders, his fingers mapping the curve of her spine. His other hand laid on her bare stomach, absorbing the softness of her skin, following her diaphragm as it raised and lowered with her every breath.

Tracing circles on her back he looked at her face again, her eyes still closed. Her occasional soft moans had been replaced by a gravely humming, emanating deep from her throat. He smiled, pleased that it was his love for her that made her feel this way. As he thought of their love a pulse of power surged through him - life force rushing into him, overwhelming his senses, his emotions exploding in his body. The need for her - to engulf her, absorb her – flared white-hot.

The white brilliance surrounding them pulsed, mirroring his heartbeat. Urgently he moved his hand from her stomach to the small of her back and pulled her toward him, trying to erase even a hair's breadth of distance between them. Her felt her hands encircle is waist, pulling him into her with equal intensity. Every cell, every molecule in his body vibrated with energy. She melted into him, became part of him – and he, part of her, until where there had been two, there was only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming next: For months EJ has been ravaged by grief and guilt while denying her urges and desires. The strength to maintain her solitary life devoid of physical passion is crumbling as temptation rears its head.


	11. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EJ and Bishop have always had chemistry. That chemistry heats up as an intimate dinner turns passionate.

As EJ climbed the stairs to Bishop's 3rd floor condo the butterflies in her stomach did flip-flops. Her nervousness had started back in her guest quarters as she prepared for the evening and had escalated as she walked the ten blocks to his apartment. She chastised herself for feeling like a teenager going out with the cool jock - the hot guy all the girls want to date.

_You are such a putz! What is going on with you, woman? This is just dinner between old friends catching up on life. Get a grip!_

Arriving at the condo door she paused, forcing a deep breath in a futile attempt to hold the butterflies at bay. Exhaling, she took a brief inventory of herself. Despite her own internal protests - and the limited wardrobe in her suitcase - she had changed from her clothes of earlier and donned the tightest pants she had brought - a pair of designer blue jeans. She opted for the most form fitting top she had packed - a mauve colored, one-piece with a scalloped neck that showed-off her creamy skin down to the bottom of her collarbone and out to the edge of her shoulders. She reached up and smoothed the silk top at her shoulders and down across her breasts, centering her short pony tail at the back of her neck. She knew she looked good, but despite her efforts, the butterflies were unrelenting.

_Geeze, girl. You are NOT in high school anymore. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it's not too late to skip this. What were you thinking?! God, how stupid can you be?!_

As her chest tightened and stomach lurched she turned to leave, but just then she heard the condo door open.

"Hey", Bishop's voice came from behind her.

She swallowed hard, forced a smile and turned toward him. "Hey," she said, and walked over the threshold.

Some time later EJ sat back in her chair, her stomach pleasantly full, her pallet satisfied. Conversation with Bishop over dinner had been relaxed, casual, flowing easily after several glasses of wine. The meal had actually been enjoyable with the food surprisingly delectable. Bishop, it seemed, could cook, and he was good at it.

"Where'd you learn to cook?" she asked while Bishop cleared the table, bussing dishes to the kitchen's island countertop next to the dining table. A warm, comfortable glow spread outward from her stomach into the rest of her body as she finished her second glass of wine.

"When I got back stateside from my last tour in Afghanistan the Army shrink said I needed something to focus on," he continued as he stepped back to the table, filling her wine glass.

"My brother's a chef at an upscale restaurant in St. Louis, so I thought I'd give cooking a try. I took some leave and went and learned from him. The shrink was right - it really helped. It's been a passion ever since."

Turning, he walked back to the counter and began preparing something she suspected was probably dessert.

Bringing the refreshed glass of wine to her lips she hesitated, her gaze sweeping appreciatively over Bishop's toned body. He was gorgeous, no doubt about it. But he wasn't vain about his appearance. He was solid and masculine and strong and he smelled so good and …

 _Oh ... wow! What have I gotten myself into?_ she thought as the warm, alcohol induced haze lessened her earlier anxiety.

As Bishop expertly manipulated the cooking utensils he glanced over at EJ, the hint of a smirk appearing on his face after a moment. Her throat tightened and her face flushed hot as she realized he had caught her checking him out. She cleared her throat and hastily turned away, an embarrassed smile on her face, and focused her attention on surveying the rest of the open layout of the condo.

Hiding her discomfort at being caught she stood and walked toward the living room area, glancing briefly at the sleeping area and bed beyond. As she walked over to a set of shelves stacked with music CDs, DVDs and books she nervously drained her glass of wine without thinking.

"Wow," she said, surveying the many CDs on the shelves. "You really like jazz!"

"Yeah," he said, looking over his shoulder as he continued working on the next course of food. "Comes from growing up in St. Louis. You a jazz fan?"

"Actually, I am. I'm not an expert or anything, but I probably enjoy jazz more than any other type of music."

"There's a CD in the stereo. Start it up. You'll like it."

EJ pushed the _play_ button and the gentle, melodious strains of a tenor sax, piano and acoustic bass floated softly in the background. The beat was slow, a subtle counter-point from the bass making the rhythm thick and sensuous. The sax and piano softly sang the melody back and forth between them, a duet of call and response, of lovers declaring themselves to each other.

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, allowing the music to absorb her. It was hypnotic. Swaying back and forth to the beat ever so slightly, she felt the tension drain from her muscles, her anxiety fading away, the combination of alcohol and sound flooding her mind and body with relief she hadn't experienced in months. Everything faded from her awareness as she lost herself into the warmth and the music.

The sound of soft steps coming up behind her tugged at her awareness, coaxing her partway out of her trance. The corners of her mouth turned up into a small smile at his kindness of intentionally making noise so she would not be startled, because she knew as a Ranger, he had been trained to move without making a sound. He stopped. Only inches away. The heat from his body washed over the bare skin on her neck, back and shoulders. His breath, soft and warm, ghosted across across her cheek. She didn't move, nor did he.

"Nice, isn't it?" his voice was quiet and deep.

She could sense him moving slowly side to side with beat, mirroring her motion.

"Yes," she whispered, drawing out the word as if she didn't want to let it go, as if she dared not to stop the sound of her voice for fear that everything might disappear.

For a moment she puzzled at her calmness to the intimacy of his closeness, that she didn't feel guilt or the urge to run away, feelings she had become so familiar with over the past many months. But that moment left as quickly as it had arrived and she felt herself slipping from blissful comfort into something more powerful, more raw.

As the sax and piano flowed into another lovers' refrain she felt his hand settle lightly on her bare shoulder. Not a caress, nor a grasp, but instead, a question. She sighed and without thinking, relaxed into his touch. It was warm, skin upon skin, a tingling sensation radiated down and through her chest, settling into the pit of her stomach. She had missed her body being adored. She had craved the touch of a man for so long, but had denied herself that refuge.

With her eyes still closed her body continued it's affair with the music, swaying side to side, his hand on her shoulder gently following her lead. An almost imperceptible shudder ran through her, the primal energy at her core emanating outward, making itself known. He must have felt it. He brought his other hand up, both now resting on her shoulders, hands and body mirroring her movement. She felt the heat of his body on hers and with aching slowness he closed the inches between them, finally bringing his chest to her back, lightly folding his arms around hers as they continued to move with the music. She relaxed into him, engulfed by him, her senses overwhelmed by his warmth and scent and strength.

Desire burned deep in her core now, surging upward, pushing her consciousness aside so that only her need existed. His hands seared the skin where they wrapped around her arms, his breath was excruciating on her neck. The music began to fade, replaced by the pounding of her own pulse in her ears. Her breathing grew ragged and shallow while she arched her body into his. As she pushed her back against him she could feel his arousal through his jeans causing the smoldering heat within her to flair even hotter.

With her eyes still closed she felt him lean over her shoulder and cup her chin with his hand, turning her face to meet his. His lips brushed tentatively across hers and a shudder ran through her, a soft moan escaping her throat. He pulled his mouth back for just an instant and she felt an aching loss, wanting more, needing more.

As his lips returned she leaned into the kiss, embracing it, deepening it, reveling in it. Her mind exploded into white heat, obliterating all logic and reason. His hand moved from her chin to cradle the side of her face allowing him to lean further into the kiss, his tongue brushing her lower lip, requesting entry into her velvet mouth. Panting, she parted her lips, letting him taste her as her tongue greedily sought his in return. Deepening the kiss even further she brought up one hand, reaching back to his neck, pulling him forward over her shoulder so her lips were pressing hard into his. She wanted him closer, wanted him over her, on her, around her. Another soft moan escaped her as she felt his other hand move down and splay across her ribs, urgently pulling her backwards into him.

Pausing just long enough to breathe, they devoured each other's mouths again while she pulled urgently at his neck as his hand massaged light circles through the sheer fabric of her blouse onto her stomach. The heat of his body against hers was delicious. Her need to touch and be touched overcame any semblance of control as her body's primal instincts took over, pushing her further into her desire and into his arms.

He broke the kiss, pulling his lips away from hers, but never paused as he brought them down to devour her shoulder, licking and nipping fervently up her neck toward that, _oh so sensitive_ , spot behind her ear. She turned her upper body back to face the shelves and leaned her head to the side, opening her neck, granting him more access.

Planting her feet, she brought both hands in front of her placing them on the bookshelf, leaning forward into it while pressing her back hard into his thigh and groin, rubbing his awakened length with her hip. She was rewarded by his deep groan, trailing off into a throaty growl. She gasped as he slid one hand under the hem of her blouse, trailing heat across her stomach as it moved upward to finally cup her breast. His thumb deftly slid back and forth across her tightened nipple pushing against the shear fabric of her bra, sending electric jolts straight down to her core.

His lips continued their adoration of her neck while his hot breath cascading across her ear and cheek. Her breathing was labored now, coming in shallow, panting gasps as her body responded to his ministrations. As he continued to pleasure her breast she felt his other hand reach down and deftly open the button of her jeans, sliding her zipper down part way. The warmth of his palm against her bare stomach, and then his fingers tracing small circles just above the apex of her sex, sent a wave of excitement shuddering through her as her body anticipated the pleasure promised by his touch.

Soft whimpers of pleasure escaped her mouth without thinking. She could feel her core, wet with building desire and the need for fulfillment long denied. Her hips still swayed side to side, but no longer to the music which had long since disappeared from conscious thought. They moved to the rhythm of his lips on her neck, the kneading of his hand on her breast, the teasing of his fingers in the blond curls of her arousal. His touch, his smell, his heat - it was overwhelming, intoxicating. She felt the world spinning away, out of control, beyond anything solid her mind could grasp. Her heart raced as she gasped for breath. Her body would allow no other option, she had no choice but to surrender.

The blaring ring of her phone across the room snapped her mind from under the spell of her body, bringing her awareness painfully back to the present. Guilt, fear, panic - all crashed in upon her. Gasping for air she brought a hand down inside her jeans covering Bishop's hand, stilling it's movement.

"I ...," she fought to calm her breath in order to speak. "I can't ...," she stammered, struggling to regain her senses. "Chris, I'm sorry ..."

He slowly pulled his hand away from under hers and gently slid his other hand from her breast and out from under her blouse. Placing a gentle kiss on her neck he moved both hands to her shoulders as she centered herself and stood up straight, still facing the bookshelf, her breathing ragged.

"No, EJ," Bishop said. "Don't apologize. I'm the one who should apologize."

Turning around she struggled for the courage to look up at him. Finally forcing herself to make meet his gaze she said, "No, Chris. It's not you. It's me. I'm not ready ... I'm not ... healed. I still hurt about him."

"I understand," he said. "I shouldn't have pushed. EJ, you need to know that I …"

She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. "Don't, Chris. I can't hear that now."

He nodded, dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back.

EJ took in a deep breath, held it for a moment to steady her nerves and then exhaled. She stepped around Bishop, walking over to her coat and pulled out her phone to see who had called. Thumbing the redial button her call was answered a moment later.

"This is McGee," Tim's voice came over her phone.

"Hey, Tim," she responded. "You called?"

"EJ! Oh, yeah. Just checking in. Wondering how you're doing."

"Thanks, Tim. I appreciate it. I'm doing fine … never better. How's it going with the data search?"

McGee sighed, "Slow but sure."

"Thanks for hanging in there, Tim. I know it must suck. I'll see you in the morning."

"Oh ... OK. Well, ah,... have a nice night," McGee said.

She ended the call. Reaching down she zipped and buttoned her jeans, then smoothed out her top. Pulling her jacket off the chair she slipped into it, then turned to look at Bishop across the room.

"Chris, I need to go."

"Sure," he said. "I understand. Do you want me to walk you back?"

"No, thanks. I've got a badge and a gun. And Bremerton's not exactly a hot-bed of crime."

"Yeah, OK," he sighed.

"Thank you for dinner, it was really nice," she hesitated and then finished her goodbye, "I'll see you in the morning."

She turned and walked outside, pulling the door gently shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, EJ suffers through the guilt and shame of her weakness, begging forgiveness from Gibbs she sees in a dream. But is it just a dream?


	12. Dreamtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EJ finds Gibbs in her dreams, taking one last opportunity to say 'goodbye'.

EJ walked the streets from Bishop's condo back to the naval base, her subconscious mind taking over navigation duties while her conscious mind churned in emotional turmoil. She had been fighting a losing battle against the aching guilt and regret which demanded their release in choking sobs.

She didn't know how long she had been walking when she was startled by a voice breaking through her thoughts.

"ID please, Ma'am."

"What?" she said, confused, as she looked up and realized she had reached the small, security guard house at the entrance to the base.

"Your identification. Please, Ma'am," the sentry repeated himself, eyeing her cautiously.

She shook her head hard, trying to clear her thoughts and forced her attention to the young man in front of her.

"Oh …, yeah. Sorry." she said, as she pulled out her badge and ID, holding them up for his inspection.

She noticed the sailor's curious expression as he inspected her and realized she must look like a mess. She could imagine how her face must appear; flushed red with smeared mascara and makeup tracks running down her cheeks.

After a moment of carefully scrutinizing her identification he nodded his satisfaction and stepped aside, waving her through the narrow gate.

As she walked past him he cleared his throat to speak, "Is everything alright, Ma'am?"

She wiped her palms against her cheeks, then onto her jeans and turned to look back at him. "Yes, everything's fine. Thank you, Petty Officer."

The sentry nodded again, turned and resumed his post, gazing out into the warm summer night. EJ continued her trek toward the base guest quarters.

Turning the key in the lock she opened the door and flipped on the light, staring into the barren guest room. It was small and stark, with only a single bed, a night stand and one small chair next to the door leading into the bathroom. Closing and locking the door she sighed heavily, then turned and put her badge, gun and handcuffs on the night stand. Flopping down on the bed she buried her head in her hands as her sobs returned releasing the dammed-up shame and grief, pushing out through her shuddered and choked breath.

Tears dripped from her eyes, down into her hands and then soaked into the bedspread. Her body continued to shake as she gasped for air in between bursts of emotion and tears. Her stomach was tied-up in knots and the tightness in her chest made breathing even that much more difficult. Grief moved through her slowly, dragging sharp, jagged edges behind it, scraping her insides raw until the pain became almost unbearable.

In between ragged breaths a pleading whisper escaped her lips, "Oh, God … I miss him. I miss him so much. This hurts, so bad. Please God, take this away - just for a minute. That's all. Just for a minute."

The minute of relief did not come. The hurt didn't go away. She tried to relax and force her body to quiet. She tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable as a thin sheen of perspiration covered her arms, shoulders and neck. Her head pushed the pillows up against the headboard as the tie pulled loose from her pony tail and her hair spread out, sticking to her sweat soaked face and neck. Eventually her exhausted mind and body shut down and she finally dropped off into a fitful sleep.

Everything was spinning and she drifting slowly downward toward ... something. The vertigo stopped and she felt like she was standing ... somewhere ... nowhere ..., she wasn't sure. All she could see was white and it was hard to know what was up, down or sideways as she turned around, desperately looking from a reference point for both her body and her mind.

Off in the distance - she couldn't tell how far away in her world of white - she saw a figure, a person, a man. She focused on his shape to ground herself. They were slowly getting closer, though she couldn't tell if she was moving toward him, he toward her, or both were moving simultaneously. As they drew closer she gasped as her view of him crystalized.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Jethro!"

He smiled at her, nodding.

"I miss you. I love you, so much," she sighed.

As he drew closer his hands reached out. She hesitated, looking up into his eyes. He nodded again, encouraging her to take his hands. She brought her hands up, sliding her palms into his.

"I love you too, Munchkin," he said. He cocked his head, his face puzzled. "Erica, how are you here?"

"I ... I don't know," she said, her confused. "But I am ... I'm here. I don't want this to end!"

Gazing into his eyes she saw his image flicker just the tiniest bit and she snapped her head down to look at his hands as their touch in her own seemed to fade for a moment. Panic sparked in her and she looked back into his eyes.

"I don't know what's going on. I don't know how long I can be here with you," she said, her voice anxious. "Please, touch me, Jethro. Touch me once more before I have to go."

She felt his hands release hers as they moved up to caress her face. She smiled at him, sighed and closed her eyes. His hands moved over her as she willed every part of her being to embrace him, to let him know - one last time - the depth of her love for him.

EJ woke slowly. Light filtered past the window blinds; daylight on its way to waken the world outside. With her eyes still closed she reached over, searching for the warm body that should be lying beside her. When her hand found nothing but the edge of a bed much narrower than it should be, her eyes open looking around the room, trying to make sense out of her disorientation, panic rising in her chest. After a few moments her mind cleared as she recognized the stark but familiar interior of her guest quarters.

Sitting up she dropped her legs over the side of the bed as vivid flashes of the heat and desire from the evening before played across her mind. She could feel Bishop's warm breath on her neck, his strong hands on her body, the desire and need she felt at his touch. She shook her head, trying to rid her thoughts of those visions and the guilt and embarrassment they conjured. Her body began to rebel against her, the trembling staring in her hands and moving up her arms. She sat up straighter and took several deep breaths, letting each out slowly, fighting to regain control. Finally her body calmed, her breathing became soft and steady while the ache that had filled her chest faded to a point where she didn't feel like she might crawl out of her skin.

Although still tired, she felt better, somewhat rested. She knew she had slept because ... and then it hit her ... she had dreamed. But this dream had been so vivid, so real, so alive. She had not just dreamed, she had dreamed about Gibbs. And this dream was different. In this dream he wasn't dead; slipping away from her frantic grasp, sinking out of sight in frigid and murky water. No, in this dream he was alive. In this dream he had spoken to her, had told her how much he loved her. In this dream she had touched him and he had felt real. In this dream she was happy. Tears began to flow freely, a mixture of sadness and gratitude, of love and regret. But the debilitating grief that had been her constant companion for months was nowhere to be found - at least for the moment - and she sent out a silent  _thank you_ for the temporary reprieve.

Looking over at the night stand she spied the digital clock radio, the time read 6:15 am. Taking an inventory of herself she realized she was still dressed from the night before. Her body felt clammy, the dried sweat on her skin sticking to her clothes. Heaving a sigh she stood up and peeled off her jeans and blouse, then stripped off her bra and panties. Stepping into the bathroom she turned on the shower, scalding hot as usual.

She let the water run over her, turning her skin red with its warmth, washing away the remnants of the prior evening. She stood in its cascade of heat, thankful for the way it made her skin tingle, feeling revived and refreshed. Her thoughts went back to her dream and Gibbs. Maybe this dream was a good thing - it certainly didn't feel bad. Maybe this was her mind's way of helping her to finally let go of him so she could start to heal from her grief. Maybe the failed intimacy with Bishop was the catalyst her subconscious needed to jolt her out of her self-indulgent pity and spur her on toward regaining her life. Maybe that was why she had been given the opportunity to feel him one more time, to say goodbye and to let him go. Maybe ...

She turned the shower knob, making the water hotter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Rathburn lashes out at Gibbs with his most heinous torture yet, all without laying a finger on him.


	13. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibbs learns that his failed efforts have caused someone close to him to suffer the ultimate sacrifice.

Gibbs sat in the same chair, in the same room, that he had been in more times than he cared to remember. He knew why he was there. He knew Rathburn would soon arrive to exact his vengeance upon Gibbs for his escape; enjoying the role as personal benefactor of Gibbs' torment.

His body hurt, which had become the norm. But today his mind swirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions rising from his vision of Shannon and EJ which played over and over in his mind. On one hand, he had regained a sense of urgency that he must find some way to either escape, or thwart Rathburn's plans from within his captivity - if he only knew what those plans were. On the other hand, his fear that Rathburn would soon make good on his promise to kill his friends made him question whether or not it was wise to abandon his plan to end his life and neutralize that threat. The words of the only two women he had ever really loved in his life still echoed in his mind, making any decision seem impossible.

As he struggled with his thoughts he heard footsteps in the hallway. His guard's voice greeted Rathburn.

"Good morning, Boss," Darrow acknowledged as Rathburn's footsteps stopped.

"When did he regain consciousness?" Rathburn asked.

"About 30 minutes ago."

"And he was out all night?"

"Yeah, boss. At one point I thought he was dead. I had to go in and make sure he was still breathing. When he woke up he was pretty incoherent so I used smelling-salts to bring him around."

"Did you give him water?"

"Yeah, Boss. Just like you said."

"So he's fully awake?"

"Oh, yeah! He cussed me out when he woke up but I popped him a good one. That's why there's blood on his mouth."

"I told you he was not to be touched; not to be harmed in any way!" there was anger in Rathburn's voice.

"I know, Boss. It was a ... reflex," Darrow said, his voice was stressed, thick with tension.

Rathburn's tone turned dismissive. "No matter," he said. "He will soon be as docile as a lamb."

Gibbs heard Rathburn walk into the room behind him, circling around Gibbs to the chair across from him. As Rathburn came into view Gibbs locked unblinking eyes on the man as he sat, a large manila envelope in his hand.

"Very inconsiderate of you, Mr. Gibbs," Rathburn said from behind a snide smile while he shook his finger back and forth at Gibbs, "leaving without saying goodbye."

He bowed his head and looked up from under his dark eyebrows. The smile on his oversized lips turned from smug to cruel as he continued, "And after I have been such a gracious host. I am disappointed and, quite frankly, offended. Really, Mr. Gibbs …, your insensitivity is astonishing!"

Still somewhat groggy Gibbs continued to stare at Rathburn, running possible scenarios through his fuzzy mind about where this particular meeting would end up. Would Rathburn decide to implement some horrendous new torture as punishment for his escape? Or had his time run out where Rathburn didn't need him anymore and he would soon be dead? The later possibility didn't frighten him any longer. Instead, he felt his stomach turn at that possibility because it would mean Rathburn didn't need his information any longer. And, if that was the case, it meant this deranged terrorist was moving ahead with whatever his plans were and that would certainly result in the death of innocent people.

Gibbs' eyes dropped to the envelope in Rathburn's hand as the man's long, slender index finger began to stroke it slowly, back and forth. Rathburn caught Gibbs' glance to his hand and a faint chuckle escaped his throat.

"Mr. Gibbs, I was hoping it would not come to this. As I have said before, I am a reasonable man. But your stubbornness left me no choice. You know exactly the information I desire, and yet you continue to defy me. I am afraid the time of gentle persuasion is over," Rathburn said, his voice sickeningly sweet.

"It is ironic, is it not," Rathburn continued, "that in your attempt to … how did you put it a while back … ' _save innocent lives'_ …, that you have caused the exact opposite to happen to someone close to you."

Gibbs felt a sharp burning ignite in his stomach and spread like wildfire up through his chest. A burning not of pain, but of fear. His breath came shallow and fast as his heart raced. He knew his emotions were clear on his face; he had neither the physical or emotional resilience to hide them. What had this madman gone and done? What had he allowed this maniac to do?

Rathburn turned sideways in his chair and draped one leg over the other, feigning an apathetic yawn and looked down at the envelope in his hands.

"Here," he said, tossing the envelope to Gibbs who struggled weakly to grab it as it landed in his lap. "You may be interested in this morning's news."

Gibbs opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper; printed web pages from the CNN news blog. He stared at the headline, stunned. Swallowing hard he forced himself to read the first paragraph. Frantically he dug further and pulled out a newspaper clipping of a Washington Post article about the same subject. As he skimmed the article a murderous rage began to build inside him. He looked up at Rathburn and found the man looking intently back at him, gauging him, analyzing his reaction to the news from the envelope.

As his anger seethed inside Gibbs attempted to unscramble his thoughts. He was about to speak when Rathburn looked to someone at the back of the room behind Gibbs and made a thumbs-up sign. Immediately a flat panel television mounted on the side wall of the room came to life. A news reporter stood outside the gate of the Navy Yard NCIS office, his microphone displaying the local television news station's logo. Gibbs' eyes riveted to the screen as the reporter spoke.

_'_ _Tragedy struck last night as a federal agent of the Naval Criminal Investigative Services agency was murdered. NCIS Special Agent Erica Jane Barrett was found shot to death in her home yesterday morning._ _'_

The image on the screen switched from the reporter to a street view Gibbs' house. The reporter's voice-over continued.

' _An NCIS spokesperson said the agency would withhold details pending the completion of an investigation into Barrett's murder. Given the classified nature of Barrett's work, details about her are sketchy. However, the NCIS spokesperson did confirm that Barrett was a veteran agent with 12 years of service at the agency. Calls left today for NCIS Director, Jerome Craig, were not returned. Barrett was not married and had no children. She is survived by her mother who resides in the Midwest. Reporting for Channel 2 News, this is Michael Samson._ _'_

As the reporter finished, the camera shot returned to him standing outside of the NCIS office. Then the video paused, the reporter's face frozen on the screen. Gibbs sat completely still, his mind racing.

He heard something drop onto the papers in his lap and he snapped his head forward to see Rathburn standing over him. "Overnight express delivery ... a wonder of the modern world," Rathburn chided.

He had been so stupefied he had not noticed Rathburn rise and walk over to him.

Rathburn locked eyes with him for a moment and then strode toward the door, speaking quietly as he passed Gibbs, "who will be the next person to pay for your stubbornness?"

As Rathburn exited the room Gibbs looked down at his lap, wondering what Rathburn had dropped there. Sitting on top of the papers cradled between his legs was a silver, cameo locket with a white, carved rose set on a black onyx background.

He stared at the locket, afraid to pickup it up, fearful it would burn the flesh from his hands if he touched it. When he had slipped it into EJ's hand over ten years ago it had been a symbol of his new found love for her. During the ensuing decade she had kept it close, a symbol of her unrequited love for him.

Now …, now it was a symbol of his most utter and most complete failure. He had failed her, the woman he loved more than life itself. In his hesitation to act, in his selfish desire to try and keep his own life rather than ending it in order to protect her, he had condemned EJ to death.

Gibbs body went slack and he slumped down in the chair. The searing pain in his chest turned from rage to agonizing grief as his mind went blank. Tears streamed down his face as he felt the will to live drain from his body. It was time to end it, once and for all, and after his failure to protect EJ, he deserved nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Evidence surfaces that dares EJ to hope Gibbs is alive.


	14. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While EJ, McGee and Bishop's team deduce Rathburn's plot to kill thousands of people, another revelation surfaces - the possibility that Gibbs is alive.

McGee heaved a frustrated sigh as he flipped through page after page from the tall stack of paper in front of him. He, along with EJ, Bishop, Andrews and Brogan had sequestered themselves in the conference room since early morning pouring over the printouts from his data search, cataloging any of the copied documents or files that contained specific keywords which might indicate a threat or risk.

"My head is killing me!" Brogan said, looking up from the pages scattered in front of him, rubbing his eyes.

'You're just a whiner," Andrews scoffed as he threw a pencil across the table at Brogan, who deftly caught it and sent is sailing back at Andrews, just missing his ear. They both broke out in huge grins.

EJ sat across the table from Bishop, focusing on the printouts in front of her, occasionally casting a covert glance in his direction. Bishop's focus was intense and he had hardly said a word all morning.

McGee immediately noticed the physical and emotional distance between EJ and Bishop as they hardly even acknowledged each other's presence. During a break he approached EJ and asked her how she was feeling, hoping if she had any concerns she would confide those in him. But EJ seemed in relatively good spirits, other than her obvious discomfort being around Bishop.

They had been at it for almost five hours as the clock on the wall approached 11:00 am. It was tedious work and in spite of Brogan's and Andrew's antics, everyone's nerves were beginning to fray a little. But McGee had known from the start this would be the hardest part of this investigation. He shook his head and refocused on the paper in front of him.

A moment later he jumped in his seat as his phone rang, startling him from his concentration. Tony DiNozzo's name flashed on the caller ID.

"Tony," McGee said.

"Hold on, McGee," Tony said. Then Tim heard him call in the background to Ziva. "I'm going to put this on speaker, McGee," he said, "and you need to do the same."

"OK," McGee responded.

He looked up at the others in the room who were watching him. "It's Tony. He wants this on speaker." They all nodded.

"OK Tony, you're on speaker."

"Hey everyone," Tony said. Everyone spoke up, acknowledging they could hear him.

Tony continued, "Ziva came across some intelligence that seems too coincidental to your case to ignore so we wanted to give you a heads-up. Go ahead, Ziva."

Ziva David's voice came over the speaker. "Three days ago Army Criminal Investigations Division reported that a BGM-71 TOW missile was stolen from Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Tacoma."

"Holy shit," Bishop hissed.

"What?" EJ snapped her head around to Bishop, any discomfort between them gone.

"The TOW is a ground to ground anti-tank weapon. It's small, portable and deadly. The Army used them a lot when I was in Kunar Province in Afghanistan," Bishop explained. "This is bad news."

"Yes, it is," came Ziva's voice over McGee's phone. "And, if we learned anything from Gibbs," she said, " it is that there is no such thing as a coincidence."

At Ziva's comment McGee shot a glance over at EJ. He could see in her eyes the mention of Gibbs had rekindled her grief for a moment.

"So," it was Tony's voice back on the speaker, "we wanted to pass that along as soon as we got the intel."

Bishop spoke up, "Thanks, Ziva. Thanks, Tony. We'll keep you posted." He nodded to McGee and Tim ended the call.

Everyone sat silent, stunned, staring at the table in front of them.

"Could that missile be used against one of the docked subs?" McGee asked Bishop.

"It would have minimal effect," Bishop said. "As an anti-tank weapon it's nasty. But the subs are so huge and their hull plating is so thick to withstand the water pressure at significant depths that the worst it could do is put a big dent in the side. But it couldn't sink a sub."

"What about the nuclear missiles the sub's carrying?" EJ asked. "Could it blow them up?"

"No," Brogan shook his head. "The missiles aren't armed when the subs are docked. And like Chris said, the TOW probably couldn't breach the hull. An even if it did and it damaged a Trident missile, it wouldn't explode. The greatest risk would be if a warhead was damaged and there was a radiation leak."

"We need to get this information to the Bangor base commander ASAP," EJ said.

"Saddle-up everyone," Bishop said. "I'll call ahead to Bangor and let them know we're coming. It's about time we talked to people there."

The drive from Bremerton to the Bangor sub base took about an hour, as both cars weaved down country roads that passed through forests and fields. Bishop's team took point while McGee and EJ followed. EJ was, once again, struck by the beauty of the area.

Upon their arrival they were met by the base commander whom they briefed. He then turned them over to the base's head of security, a Lieutenant Commander Cozort. Cozort stood well over six feet tall, even taller than Bishop. His burley exterior was in stark contrast to his jovial attitude. His smile was as large as the rest of him and he laughed easily, putting EJ and everyone else at ease almost immediately. She liked the man.

"So, what you're telling me is right now we don't know anything else about the TOW missile other than it was stolen," Cozort said.

"Yeah. Sorry we don't have more intel Lieutenant Commander," Bishop said and blew out a puff of air.

"Hey, better that, than nothing," Cozort replied.

"Is there any possibility that this type of missile could be fired at the base from across the canal?" EJ asked.

"The distance is well within it's range," Bishop said. "But it just doesn't make sense. Anyone knowledgeable enough to steal a TOW would know that it's effectiveness against a sub would be negligible."

"It's pretty sparsely populated over there," Cozort said. "And we monitor the satellite surveillance feed closely for unusual activity. The only close town is Quilicene and other than that, there are just small farms and residential homes over there."

EJ froze at Cozort's mention of the town of Quilicene. Something snapped into place in her memory and immediately she turned to McGee.

"Tim," she barked, "can you look-up archived case information from your tablet?"

"Yeah, I've got a wireless connection running," he said, a quizzical look on his face. Then his eyes flashed with understanding. "You remember where you know Quilicene from, don't you!"

"Maybe," she said, her voice tense.

Everyone stared at EJ and McGee, confused at the sudden shift of their attention.

"Lookup the Rathburn case file," she said.

"Was that the chemical bomb case you guys cracked about five or six months ago?" McGee asked.

"Yeah. That's the one."

"What am I looking for?"

"Look for documents about the properties owned or leased by his corporations."

"I'm on it."

"EJ," Bishop said, quirking an eyebrow, "care to share?" Cozort and the other agents nodded in unison.

"Last year, just after you transferred to Bremerton," she began, looking at Bishop, "we pulled a case where some home-grown environmental activist group was building a make-shift chemical bomb. Their plan was to explode the device in a populated area, releasing poisonous gas they knew could kill hundreds, of not thousands, of people."

"Why would a self-proclaimed environmental group want to release poison gas?" Cozort asked. "What was their objective?"

"Their communiques stated they felt the only way to bring attention to the environmental damage caused by, what they called, the military-industrial complex, was through violent protest," EJ explained. "They believed that releasing a chemical bomb which killed a lot of people would get their agenda in front of the public."

"You're kidding!" Cozort exclaimed. "That's insane. What happened?"

"We were able to track down some leads and caught up with the bombers and stopped them from exploding the device. Two of my agents were exposed to the gas, but they recovered."

EJ continued, "We followed the money trail and traced funding to a shell corporation owned by a wealthy business man named Emile Rathburn. Rathburn is known for his outspoken criticism of the impact of the military on the environment."

"Did you find this Rathburn guy?" Brogan asked.

"No." EJ said. "By the time we caught up to the bombers we think Rathburn had figured out we were close, so he went underground. No one has seen him since."

"Got it!" shouted McGee, waving his free hand at the group. "I found it. Geeze, you were right EJ."

She rushed over to McGee and looked over his shoulder.

"One of Rathburn's holding companies has a 10 year lease on a farm property with the mailing address of Quilicene, Washington," McGee said as he scanned the document on his tablet's screen.

"This is no damn coincidence," Andrews scowled.

EJ stepped back from McGee, staring hard at the floor, her mind moving at light-speed, correlating the information they had obtained so far.

"OK," she said. "What do we have? We've got a crazy environmental activist that has no qualms in killing lots of people to make his point."

Brogan jumped in," And he wants to make a big statement. The TOW missile fits in with that. But if his plan is to attack a sub, that won't accomplish his goal. The missile won't do enough damage."

"And," Cozort, added, "even if he did attack a sub, the media would never know about it. It's too remote out here and the base is always locked-up tighter than a drum."

Bishop looked thoughtful, "So his target can't be the subs or the Trident missiles because he just can't do any damage or hurt anyone. The warheads aren't armed."

"So, he must have another target in mind," Andrews said, as he slumped down in a chair next to the conference table.

"Oh, no!" McGee moaned, shaking his head at his tablet computer, his eyes wide.

Everyone snapped their heads around to stare at him.

EJ stepped back to his side and said softly, "What is it, Tim?"

McGee looked over at Cozort. "Lieutenant Commander, how are the missiles' nuclear warheads transported to the base?"

"By truck," Cozort said.

"Over the same roads we drove to get here?"

"Yes, why?"

McGee ignored his question. "Are the truck transportation schedules stored on your computer server?"

"Yes," Cozort said, still puzzled at McGee's line of questioning.

"The warhead transportation schedules were among the data copied by the hacker," McGee said. "When is the next shipment coming to the base, Lieutenant Commander?"

EJ looked over at Cozort and saw the jovial man's face turn into a sour frown.

"Tomorrow," Cozort said.

"Sir," McGee said, "If a TOW missile blew-up a truck transporting a nuclear warhead, what would happen."

Cozort's eyes bulged as he stared at McGee, sweat breaking out on his brow. "The warheads wouldn't explode, they can't," he stuttered.

He swallowed hard as he continued, "But the breach of a warhead's housing would release a radioactive cloud blanketing the area. The winds from the Olympic mountains would blow the plume eastward, right into the Seattle / Tacoma area."

"My God," Bishop breathed. "There are over three and a half million people in the Puget Sound Basin."

EJ finished his thought, "And that means thousands of people will die."

A deathly quiet surrounded the group as they all stood silently, each wrapped in their own horrific thoughts.

Suddenly the room exploded in activity as each of them moved into crisis mode; years of training and experience taking over.

"I'll call the base commander and brief him. I'm sure he'll move the base to  _Alert Level Alpha,_ " Cozort said, as he pulled out his phone and walked over the corner of the room.

"I'm going to pull up the warhead transportation schedule and itinerary," McGee said.

"EJ," Bishop said, pulling her out of her thoughts, "call Director Craig and ask him to arrange for a strike team to stand by." She nodded, glad that Bishop was taking charge. "I'm going to call the Bremerton commander and brief him."

Ten minutes later everyone had accomplished their tasks. Quiet had descended on the room once again as the action lulled, everyone considering what they needed to do next.

EJ walked across the room to where McGee worked on his tablet and dropped down into the chair beside him, letting out a long sigh. He glanced over at her, a look of concern flashing across his face. She smiled and nodded at him, letting him know she was fine. He relaxed, smiled back and then returned his attention to the screen in his hand.

A few minutes later EJ heard a commotion on the other side of the room. Looking up she saw two solders dressed in military police uniforms speaking with Cozort, their commander. They had handed him something and all three were scrutinizing it intently. Her curiosity went up a notch when she saw Cozort wave Bishop over to join their discussion.

Trying not to draw attention to herself, EJ stood up, stretched, then yawned and nonchalantly sidled over toward the group, stopping by the conference table when she got within earshot of the four men.

"Tell me again where this came from," Bishop said to the tallest of the MP's.

"A small boat sir," the young MP responded. "It breached the security exclusion zone yesterday afternoon. We intercepted it and brought it ashore."

The other MP who was much shorter than his partner looked over at Cozort. "We were going to inform you at this afternoon's briefing Lieutenant Commander. But when  _Alert Level Alpha_  was declared a few minutes ago we followed protocol and brought this to you ASAP."

"And you're sure the motor was running, even though no one was in the boat?" Cozort asked.

"Yes sir," the taller MP assured him. "I was on the interception team."

"What do you think it means, sirs?" the shorter MP directed his question at both Bishop and Cozort as they looked down at the paper in Cozort's hands.

EJ could tell it was a large photograph, but she was too far away to make out the details. She inched a little closer to the men, craning her neck to get a better view without being obvious.

"I don't know, Petty Officer," Bishop responded to the MP's question. "The first set of numbers look like a date – and if they are, then it's yesterday's date."

"And," Cozort added, "the second ten numbers might be a phone number. Maybe the phone number of the boat's owner."

"That makes sense," Bishop nodded. "But what does that last part mean?" As the four men stood in silent confusion EJ's attention diverted to Brogan and Andrews across the table from her. They were looking at a map of the base and arguing about something.

As she focused on Brogan and Andrews she barely heard Bishop as he continued, "Well, let's try it out and see if it is a phone number". He pulled his phone out of his pocked and dialed the number.

EJ heard her phone ring. Grabbing it she thumbed the answer button, "This is Barrett."

There was no response, just dead air. "Hello," she said. "Hello, who's there?"

She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the caller ID. It read Christopher Bishop. Her anger flared and she snapped her head toward Bishop, preparing to lecture him that now was not the time for pranks, but stopped cold when she caught sight of the four men. Bishop stood, phone to his ear, staring at her, mouth open, eyes wide. Cozort and the two MP's mirrored Bishop's expression. She knew something was wrong, seriously wrong.

EJ dropped the phone to her side, taking a cautious step toward the group of men. "What?" she said tentatively.

When none of the four men responded her heart started to race, a knot curling in her stomach as alarm bells went off in her head.

"What is it?" her voice cracked, almost shouting, bringing Brogan's and Andrew's argument to a halt as they looked up at her. Out if the corner of her eye she saw McGee jerk to his feet, walking swiftly toward her.

Bishop took the phone away from his ear, dropping his arm to his side. Still, no one spoke.

"Chris," EJ pressed out from tight lips, "you'd better tell me what the fuck is going on or I'm gonna make you regret you were ever born."

EJ's threat seemed to break through Bishop's trance as he shook his head and whispered, "Sorry, EJ. Come over here."

Not only did EJ step over to the group of four men, but Brogan, Andrews and McGee stepped up as well.

"EJ," Bishop began, "I've got a photograph here of the inside a small boat that was intercepted yesterday by base security."

Bishop had not shown her the photograph and her patience with him was reaching it's end.

Bishop continued, "There was no one in the boat, but the motor was running."

"OK, so what?", EJ said, her voice higher than she had intended.

Still obstructing her view of the photo, Bishop said, "This is a picture of some numbers and letters painted onto the center seat of the boat. There seems to be three parts. We think the first part is yesterday's date and the second part is," he paused, "your phone number."

"What the hell..." EJ croaked. "Are you sure?"

"I just dialed those numbers and you answered your phone", Bishop said.

EJ's mind was spinning. What was going on? What was her phone number doing on a boat retrieved from the middle of the Hood Canal invading a secured nuclear submarine base? Suddenly her world - already a complete mess - was spinning utterly out of control. She had to be dreaming. Things couldn't really get this crazy.

"EJ. EJ!" Bishop snapped his fingers in front of her face, pulling her back to the present. "Do you know anything about this?"

She looked up at Bishop, then at all of the questioning faces surrounding her. Her eyes landed back on Bishop as her anger flared.

"What the fuck, Chris. Are you kidding? How would I know anything about this. I don't even know ' _this_ ' is! Let me see the goddamned photo," she spat, snatching it out of his hand before he could react.

Bringing it up to to her face she gasped. Her legs started to tremble and her vision blurred as she stumbled backwards into McGee who was already stepping up to catch her. As Tim supported her weight she heard him take in a sharp breath. "Oh, my God!" he whispered. She could tell he had seen the photograph over her shoulder and knew what she knew.

"What?" Bishop and Cozort said simultaneously, stepping forward to help support EJ.

As EJ's head cleared and her strength returned she struggled upright, McGee's hand still on her back. She looked down at the photograph in her hand unable to speak. Grief, joy, despair, hope, all boiled inside her and she found it hard to breathe.

Bishop was right. On the boat seat, scrawled in paint, was a three part message. The first part was yesterday's date and the second part was definitely her phone number. The third part read …  _Rule #1_ '.

She looked up at McGee. "It's Gibbs," she whispered. "He's alive!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will EJ do, now that she believes that Gibbs is alive. Will Bishop, and Director Craig support her in her effort to save Gibbs, or leave her on her own?


	15. Refused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions mount as EJ pleads with Director Craig to mount a rescue effort to save Gibbs.

"What do you mean,  _it's Gibbs_?" Bishop looked at EJ incredulously.

"I mean, it's Gibbs." she repeated, her mind dazed. Her breathing was fast and shallow, almost hyper-ventilating, making her dizzy.

Bishop shook his head, his brow scrunching together in a frown. "Help me out here EJ," he pushed forward, his voice frustrated. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Standing behind EJ, McGee moved his hands from the small of her back up to her shoulders. He stood as tall as he could and growled at Bishop, "Back off, Chris."

Brogan grabbed Bishop's shoulder, pulling him back slightly. Bishop got the message, stepping away from EJ.

McGee turned EJ around to him and pulled her into his arms. He looked down to meet her gaze and smiled softly. "Breathe," he told her. "It's OK. Just breathe. I've got you."

"Am I …," she choked, unable to speak. She took a breath and tried again. "am I crazy? Please tell me you saw it too, Tim!"

"Yeah, EJ. I saw it. You're not crazy. It's gotta be the boss. He let us know by the date that he's alive. He somehow sent that boat toward the base, knowing it would be picked up by security and someone would figure out the number on the seat was a phone number and call it."

EJ's breathing had slowed, her trembling almost gone. McGee's voice calmed her, grounded her.  _He knows_ , she thought to herself.  _He knows I'm not crazy._

"I'm sorry," Cozort said, his gentle voice a contradiction to his imposing size, "but I don't understand."

"Gibbs was notorious for his ' _rules_ '; his code to live by," said McGee. "If he's alive and had to get a message off quickly, he couldn't have done a better job."

"How's that?" Cozort said, still puzzled.

"Anyone close to Gibbs knows about his rules. Look at it – it makes sense," McGee said, his voice ringing with exasperation. "he leaves EJ's phone number in the boat. You call it and tell her that scrawled next to her phone number is ' _Rule #1'_. She knows it could only be Gibbs and that he's alive. Heck, even I know he's alive."

McGee glanced up at the ceiling, a questioning look on his face. "But I just can't figure out why he would leave Rule #1 in his message. Rule #1 is ' _never screw over your partner_ '.

EJ looked up at McGee, cracked a huge grin and begin to chuckle. Her chuckle continued into a laugh, until eventually she was laughing so hard she had to push away from McGee's embrace as she gulped for air. She felt the heavy load of stress and fear leaving her body, a welcomed relief taking its place.

McGee looked at her, dumbfounded. The rest of them looked just as confused. Glancing around EJ realized they had no idea what to do with her and if she didn't pull herself together soon they might lock her up for her own safety.

She forced herself to sober, taking in deep breaths, her laughter slowly subsiding. She smiled at McGee, walked over and reached up to caress his cheek.

"Oh, Tim," she said. "Gibbs has gone through a lot of changes since he left NCIS. Changes you don't know about." Seeing the confusion in his eyes she continued.

"You're right that Rule #1 used to be, ' _don't screw over your partner_ '. But after Gibbs left NCIS – after he and I found each other again - he tossed out his old rules and started writing a new set of rules."

"Oh?" McGee said, still confused.

"Yeah," EJ responded, hope stirring within her. "And he wrote his new Rule #1 just for me. Gibbs' new Rule #1 is, ' _hold on to the people that love you and never let them go_ '. He's alive, Tim! He's alive!"

"Oh!" McGee exclaimed. "It was a message – specifically for you!"

"Ohhh Yeah!" she replied, her smile beaming.

He smiled back, beaming just as wide.

"OK," Bishop said, "I'll buy it. But why is he here and where is he?"

"Come on Chris, do that math," EJ said. "There are no coincidences."

Bishop glared down at the table, thinking hard. "Rathburn must have him. He must know you and Gibbs are together and he must know that Gibbs is ex-NCIS. He must have kidnapped Gibbs, faked his death and brought him here. He needs something from Gibbs for this operation."

"But what?" Cozort interjected, looking at EJ. "You said you stopped this Rathburn guy's chemical bomb attack. Could he have kidnapped this Gibbs you're talking about to hold against you, blackmail you?"

"No, that doesn't fit," Andrews jumped in. There's no way he could know EJ would be assigned to this case – or even that we would figure out he was involved. You've had no calls or anything about a ransom or blackmail, have you EJ?"

"God, I wish I had. Then I would have known Gibbs wasn't dead," she replied.

"What's the common link here?" Brogan joined in.

Everyone stopped speaking, racking their brains for an answer.

Off to the side of the room EJ heard someone clear his throat a couple of times. She looked over and saw it was the tall MP. His hand was raised halfway in a shy attempt to get attention. She caught Cozort's eye and nodded over toward the young solder.

"Petty Officer," Cozort said, his voice impatient, "do you have something?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"I've been thinking about this since we were briefed a little while ago," he said. "There are two common factors in this situation that were absolutely going to happen, no matter what the circumstances," the young man explained, stepping forward into the larger group, his partner following.

"And what are those," Cozort asked, encouraging his MP to continue.

"Well, sir …, the first is this Rathburn asshole ...," he paused as his face flushed red. He looked over at Cozort. "Sorry sir," he said sheepishly.

Cozort tried to suppress a smile as he looked down at the solder, "We'll let it slide, Petty Officer. Continue."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," his voice was snappy and precise as he affirmed his commander's lenience.

"Ah …, so this Rathburn character and his plan, which includes an attack against the Navy, is not a variable, it is the precipitating factor in this whole case."

"Go on," Cozort said.

"The other factor that isn't a variable is what happened in Virginia when Agent Barrett's team stopped Rathburn's gas bomb attack. The only thing in common between these two factors is NCIS. NCIS thwarted his earlier plan and he would know that NCIS would investigate the computer theft here at the base and any activities linked to it, because it's Navy, sir."

"Still not following you, Petty Officer," Cozort shook his head. "Let's pick up the pace."

"Yes sir. Here's how I think this played out. Rathburn got burned by NCIS before. He doesn't want to get beat again and he knew he'd be going up against NCIS when he chose this course of action. He probably figured Agent Bishop's team out of Bremerton would be assigned the investigation. Like Agent Andrews said, Rathburn wouldn't have any idea that Agent Barrett might be involved."

"That's true," EJ said. "I didn't even know I'd be on this case until twelve hours before the plane left Andrews for Whidby. But how does Gibbs figure into this?"

"Ma'am," the young Petty Officer nodded at EJ, "Mr. Gibbs fits into this because he's an ex-NCIS agent. If Rathburn had done his homework on you, Ma'am, after your team stopped him, he would have found out that your, ah...husband, Ma'am?" he looked at her questioningly, embarrassed.

"Just call him Gibbs," EJ said, a slight smile of amusement at the sailor's awkwardness curving her lips."

"Yes, Ma'am," he nodded at her. "Rathburn would have known that Gibbs was a retired NCIS agent. So, if you've been beaten by your enemy once and you know you're going to face him again, how do you prepare?" the Petty Officer paused dramatically.

Bishop jumped in, almost shouting, "You study and learn his tactics!"

Everyone looked at Bishop, their faces reflecting his epiphany.

"Of course," McGee said. "Rathburn would never have attempted to kidnap an active agent, it would be suicide. But a lone individual like Gibbs with decades of NCIS experience – he was an easy target."

"I'm not sure," Cozort said. "This seems pretty basic. There has to be more here we're not seeing."

"Sir," the Petty Officer looked toward Cozort, waiting for permission to speak.

"Go ahead, Petty Officer," Cozort said.

"Ockham's Razor, sir."

"Come again, Petty Officer?"

"Ockham's Razor. If you have two or more theories that explain the observed facts, then you should use the simplest one until more evidence comes along. Sir, this just boils down to Rathburn's ego and desire to win. Gibbs' and Agent Barrett's involvement is just a matter of chance."

Bishop looked over at the Petty Officer's name tag. "Nice work, Petty Officer, Mashiro. Where'd you learn to think like that?"

"Thank your sir. Ah..., I play a lot of chess, sir."

"Of course," Bishop smiled, nodding his head. "If you ever need a job, look me up."

The young man beamed at Bishop's compliment.

Cozort laughed, "Don't start stealing my MP's, Bishop. I know where you live."

With the mood lightened somewhat, everyone relaxed, letting some of the day's stress dissipate.

EJ stepped up to Bishop. "We need to talk to the director. We've got to get to Rathburn's farm and rescue Gibbs."

"OK," Bishop said. "They've got a video communication link here. I'll get Cozort to setup the feed."

"Thank you, Chris."

He smiled down at her, "Anything for you EJ. I'm really happy for you. Don't worry, we're gonna get him back."

She nodded, running a hand through her hair.

Bishop turned, walked over to Cozort and explained their request.

A short while later EJ, McGee, Bishop and Cozort stood in a dark room facing a large video screen. A static scratching came over the speakers and then Jerome Craig's face appeared. The four of them took turns updating Craig on the new information and their theory that Gibbs was alive and held captive by Rathburn at his property across the canal.

"Wait, wait, wait ...," Craig interrupted as EJ peppered him with her ideas about how to mount a rescue for Gibbs, "this is still pretty far-fetched. Even I know about Gibbs' rules. Anyone with that knowledge could have faked that message. Rathburn could be drawing you into a trap!"

"No, sir," EJ gritted out from behind her teeth, wringing her hands together. "This is not a trap and it's not fake. It all adds up. It's Gibbs and we need to get him out!"

Craig turned his attention to Cozort. "Lieutenant Commander, do you buy this theory?"

"Ockham's razor, Director."

"Excuse me," Craig said, raising his eyebrows.

EJ, McGee and Bishop looked over at Cozort, each with a smirk.

"Ockham's razor, sir. The simplest solution is usually the right solution. It makes sense to me, Director."

"Really? I see," Craig droned.

"We can do this, Director," Bishop said.

Craig furrowed his brow, looking down for a moment. Setting his jaw he raised his head. "Look," he said, "even if Gibbs sent that message we don't know if he's still alive. And if he is alive you can't be sure where he is being held. And if he is being held at Rathburn's property you don't know what degree of resistance you'll encounter there. We don't have the necessary intel to mount a rescue."

"But sir," EJ interjected. "I know he's there. We need to get him out."

"EJ," Craig's face grew dark, "do you remember the conversation we had just before you left on this assignment?"

"Yes, sir," she hissed out.

"Good," he said. "Then you know even if I approved some type of rescue, you would not be on that operation, for your safety and the safety of others."

EJ looked over at McGee who frowned and shrugged.

"Besides," Craig continued, "we still don't know if your theory about Rathburn planning an attack on the nuclear warheads being transported to the base is correct. We've rescheduled and rerouted the warhead convey, so if that is Rathburn's plan, the transportation schedules he stole from the Bangor server are useless now."

"Thank you, sir," Cozort said.

"And we've got a combination Ranger and Seal strike force ready to go the moment we have a tip on the location of the TOW missile," Craig said.

"Sir, you've got all the bases covered," EJ said, her voice anxious, almost pleading. "Surely we can put together a small team from the personnel here and raid Rathburn's compound."

Craig sighed. "You all know we have no intel to anticipate what Rathburn plans to do with the TOW missile. And if he figures out we're on to him and changed the transportation logistics, there is no telling what he'll do with that damn thing." His voice was tense now, showing the stress of the adversarial conversation.

"The TOW is very portable and very nasty. They could run it up your ass in a speed boat before you could intercept it. Or drop in with a chopper and pop it into the base before Whidby or McChord could scramble fighters to take it out. Fact is, we have no idea what Rathburn's plan really is."

EJ felt her blood boiling. Craig was playing it safe and in the process, sacrificing Gibbs. She opened her mouth, about to blast her anger and frustration back at him, when she felt Bishop's soft grip on her forearm. She looked at him and he shook his head.

"What do you want us to do, Director?" Bishop asked.

"Bangor is in Alert Level Alpha right now," Craig said. "We need to protect the base. Barrett, McGee, Bishop, your orders are to provide support to Lieutenant Commander Cozort in whatever role he needs. We still have a serious threat out there and we don't know where it may strike. You do whatever Cozort wants, is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Bishop said.

"Got it Director," McGee added.

EJ just looked at Craig and nodded.

"Good," Craig said. "Cozort?"

"Yes, Director."

"These NCIS agents are the best of the best. Put them to good use. They won't let you down. I'll check back with you soon."

"Yes sir. Thank you, Director Craig," Cozort finished.

EJ watched as Craig made a slashing motion with his hand across his throat and the feed went blank, static once again crackling over the speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With no options left and no help from NCIS, must EJ sacrifice everything in order to save Gibbs?


	16. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EJ makes the decision to quit NCIS to go after Gibbs. What will McGee do, now that he knows Gibbs is live, but the director has forbidden him to attempt a rescue?

EJ turned and stormed out of the conference room when Craig's image disappeared from the screen. Entering the hallway she stopped, not sure what to do or where to go. Her whole body shook with anger at Craig's decision to let Gibbs languish in whatever hell-hole Rathburn had dumped him in. Her forehead pounded, the headache she had been holding at bay now breaking through. Not wanting to speak to anyone who would soon be following her, she turned and walked quickly down the hall, entering the women's restroom.

She closed the door, walked over the counter and placed both hands on either side of the sink, bowing her head down, shaking it back and forth.

_This just can't be happening. We've found him! We're so close! We need to go and get him. Sitting on my ass here is completely insane._

Tears started to flow down her cheeks. Standing up straight she began to wring her hands; kneading her fingers and rubbing her sweaty palms together as she stared at herself in the mirror. She could feel the dark ache of fear in the pit of her stomach.

_He can't die! I won't let him die! Not again! I can't go through this again!_

She heard the restroom door open and watched through the mirror as Bishop entered and stopped a few paces behind her.

"EJ, I'm sorry that ..."

He choked off his words as EJ whipped around and stepped up to him, pounding her hands against his chest, one after the other, over and over.

"You bastard!" she wailed. "You rat bastard. You stood in front of Craig and threw Gibbs under the bus." Her wails turned into sobs and her fists lost their force as she continued to pound on Bishop's chest in half-hearted anger.

He reached out and gently caught her wrists. She struggled weakly as he slowly pulled her to him, finally surrendering and melting into his chest, her sobs taking over.

"Gibbs is gonna die, Chris" she choked out her words as she pressed her face into his chest. "He's gonna die." She pulled her head back and looked up at him. "It will kill me too, Chris. I won't make it this time." She ducked her head back down and pressed it against his tear soaked shirt as her sobs slowly subsided.

"I know," he whispered. "EJ, I cut you off so Craig wouldn't get mad and force you off the case and call you back to DC."

"But there's not a damn thing we can do while we're stuck on the base," her voice was shaky, muffled by his shirt.

"I don't know what to do next about Gibbs," he said. "But we're all working on it, trust me."

Taking a deep breath she forced down the last of her sobs and steadied herself. Leaning back she looked up at him and nodded. "I know," she whispered. "Thanks."

Slowly she stepped back from his embrace, feeling his arms release her. "I need to be alone, Chris. I need to think."

"Sure," he nodded, a half frown on his face. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be back in the base security office."

She returned a weak smile and nodded.

Bishop turned, walked to the door, opened it and stepped halfway through, then stopped and looked back at EJ.

She could see the look of concern on his face. "I'm OK, Chris. Really!" she said.

"I just worry about you," he said. "I don't want you to do anything …."

She cut him off abruptly. "I'm fine, Chris," her voice was tight, pressed out from between pursed lips.

He nodded, turned and walked out, the door closing behind him.

EJ turned back toward the mirror, wiping the wetness from her eyes and cheeks. Reaching up she pushed her hair out of her face, flipping it back behind her shoulders. She felt the sweat behind her neck and on her palms as she pulled her hair into a pony tail and wrapped a tie around it she pulled from her pocket.

She couldn't wait for Bishop, or anyone else, to act. The longer she did nothing the closer Gibbs was to death, that is, if he was still alive. No! She couldn't think like that, couldn't even consider Gibbs was dead. He was alive and time was critical. This was not her first rodeo and she knew how these situations worked. Action was imperative. She had to do something, anything, to upset the status quo if Gibbs had any chance of coming out of this alive. Her thoughts raced, scenario after scenario playing across her mind like alternate endings to a movie.

She could obey Craig's orders; sit tight and do nothing while Rathburn continued to torment Gibbs. But Gibbs probably didn't have long to live if Rathburn's original plan was to blow-up the missile transport vehicles tomorrow. Rathburn probably planed on killing Gibbs just before, or just after, his attack. At best, Gibbs had less than a day to live. Sitting here doing nothing meant Gibbs had no chance of survival.

She could defy the director and drive to Rathburn's farm by herself. Maybe she could sneak in, find Gibbs and get out before anyone was the wiser. But that was an unreasonable plan; a long shot against overwhelming odds, born out of desperation. But this was Gibbs' only chance as far as she could see. If she was successful – and if she survived - she'd lose her job and career at NCIS. She'd never work for another federal agency again. She scowled at the thought.

_Screw NCIS, and every other piece-of-shit agency. I probably won't make it out alive anyway. If he's gonna live, we're gonna live together. And if he's gonna die, we're gonna die together._

She looked down at the badge clipped to her belt. Unhooking it she held it up and stared at it. She rubbed its face with her thumb, remembering how proud she felt when Director Morrow handed it to her after she had completed her oath of service, so long ago. She had met the commitments of her oath, more times than she could remember. But now it was time for her to meet her oath to Gibbs – Rule #1. That ruled applied as much to her as to him. And if meeting that oath to him meant giving up her badge, then so be it. It was no contest.

Her decision made, EJ looked back to her reflection in the mirror. She stood up straight, squared her blouse and jacket, wiped her face and set her jaw. She checked her Sig on her right hip, then the extra clip and handcuff case on her left. With her badge in hand she turned, setting her course for the security office.

Entering the office she saw Bishop and Cozort standing at one end of the conference table, deep in discussion. McGee, Andrews and Brogan were pouring over the map of the base laid out on the table, the two young MP's answering questions and pointing out details.

EJ walked over to Bishop and Cozort, cleared her throat and paused until the two men stopped talking. She hesitated, looking at the badge in her hand. The silence lasted long enough to catch the attention of the other five men who had been studying the base map. They all looked over at EJ.

"Special Agent Bishop," EJ said, the formality in her voice unmistakable.

Bishop looked confused, a frown on his face. He looked down at the badge in her hand. His confused expression turned to concern as he brought his gaze back to her face.

"As the Agent in Charge of this case," EJ continued, "I am notifying you of my resignation. Here is my badge. I will remove myself immediately from the premises. Good luck, Agent Bishop."

The room was deathly silent. The stunned looks on everyone's face were not lost on EJ; she knew she had just dropped one very big bomb on the group. She placed her badge on the table next to Bishop, turned and started walking to the door.

"EJ …," Bishop squeaked, but said nothing more as she walked out into the hall.

"EJ, wait!" McGee shouted as he ran after her down the hallway.

She stopped but didn't turn around. McGee came up behind her and stood, saying nothing. Several moments passed and finally he spoke. "Where are you going?"

She turned and looked up at him. She could see the panic and disbelief in his eyes. "Gonna go get Gibbs," she said, her voice hard, determined.

McGee looked down at the floor and slowly nodded his head in understanding. Looking back into her eyes he said, "EJ, I don't know what to do."

She could see the turmoil of emotions flashing across his face, the battle of loyalties raging inside him.

"Tim," there was compassion in her voice, "you need to do your duty. I'll be OK."

"But …," McGee started to protest. EJ cut him off.

"Tim, this is my decision," she said. "Gibbs is my responsibility now. You've got to be there for Bishop and his team. You've got to be there for NCIS."

McGee stood before her, eyes wide, mouth open but not speaking. EJ smiled and stepped toward him. Reaching up with her hand she cupped his cheek, then stood on her tip-toes and placed a kiss on his other cheek.

"You're the best, Tim. Tell everyone at home that I love them."

McGee swallowed hard. A chirp came from his throat, unable to speak. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

He reached down and unholstered his Sig, extracting the magazine and handed it to her, then re-holstered his pistol. Reaching back to his hip he pulled out his spare magazine and handed it to her as well. She smiled and nodded her appreciation, pocketing the spare ammunition. Turning she walked down the hall and into the stairwell and out of sight.

McGee felt his world spinning. His partner had just quit – really quit. And she had just told him she was embarking on a suicide mission. He knew she was facing insurmountable odds, that her chances of survival were slim to none. But he also knew where her unquestioning commitment came from – saving Gibbs. The same Gibbs that had given him his big break at NCIS and brought him onto the MCRT. The same Gibbs that had mentored him and had confidence in him, even when he didn't have confidence in himself. The same Gibbs that had saved his life more than once.

In his mind the battle raged. He looked down at his shaking hands. He could feel the sweat under his collar as his body started to mirror the turmoil inside him. If he followed EJ he would be disobeying orders, neglecting his duty to his team and the agency. People might die if he didn't do his job. And his chances of coming out of this alive weren't good.

But if he let her go alone he wasn't sure how he could live with himself if she and Gibbs both perished at Rathburn's hands while he stayed in the relative safety of the base.

Panic started to cloud his thinking. He knew he needed to make a decision soon. EJ was only minutes away from driving off and, perhaps, never returning.

McGee turned and raced back to the security office, making a bee-line to his tablet computer. Bishop looked up as he rushed passed the group. "McGee?" he questioned.

"Not now, Chris. I gotta call Abby." He grabbed his tablet and ran back out into the hallway. Arriving at the men's restroom where he could have some privacy he checked his wireless connection. It was strong enough for a video chat, so he started his chat program and clicked on Abby Schuto's name. A few seconds later Abby's face appeared on his screen.

"Timmy!" Abby shouted excitedly. "Craig told us everything. Do you really think Gibbs is alive? Oh, God, I hope he's alive. Is there anything I can do to help? I'm not sure what I can do but maybe …,"

McGee cut her off, "Abbs, I do need your help." He could hear the fear in his voice coming through, more than he would have preferred.

Abby must have heard it too because her voice calmed, her attention was focused. "What's wrong? What do you need? What can I do, Tim?"

"EJ quit. She gave Bishop her badge and she's going after Gibbs, alone." He paused and bit his lower lip. "Abbs, I don't know what to do."

Abby's smiled had turned into a frown of concern. "You mean you don't know whether or not to go with her, right?" she asked.

"Yeah. I don't know what the right decision is. I don't want to lose my job. I don't want to neglect my responsibilities and put others at risk. But I don't want Gibbs and EJ to die either. God, Abbs. I'm really scared."

Abby looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "Tim, WWGD?"

"Huh?" McGee looked confused.

She clarified, "WWGD. You know …, What Would Gibbs Do?"

McGee hesitated, thinking hard. Then his thoughts crystalized, zeroing-in on only one possibility. "The boss would come after me," he said.

"No matter what!" Abby said with confidence.

"Yeah, no matter what!" McGee echoed.

"Well, Timmy, what are you waiting for?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Abbs. I knew if I could talk to you I could figure this out."

"Timmy …," she said, her frown had deepened.

"Yeah, Abbs?"

"Be careful. We want all three of you back here."

"I'll do my best Abbs. EJ wanted me to tell everyone there that she loves them. I do, too. Abbs, would you tell everyone that for us?"

"Yeah, I will."

"I gotta go. I love you, Abbs."

"Love you too, Timmy."

McGee touched the end call button. He knew now what he had to do and he had no time to waste if he was going to catch up to EJ. He just hoped she hadn't left the base yet. He bolted out of the restroom, running down the hall to the security office.

He rushed up to Bishop and Cozort who were still talking and thrust his badge into Bishop's hand. Startled, Bishop looked down at the badge and then moaned, "McGee, what do you think you're doing."

"What I have to do, Chris."

He turned to exit the room then stopped and turned back toward the group. "I gave EJ all my ammo before she left. Can I …," before he had finished his sentence both Brogan and Andrews stepped up and each handed him their two pistol magazines.

"Thanks, guys," McGee said, shoving the clips into his pockets. Then he turned, running out the door.

McGee sped down the hallway, took the stairs two-at-a-time down to the main level. Crashing through the building doors he ran toward the parking lot. Looking frantically around he finally spied EJ standing next to their car, her hands on the roof, leaning into the car, obviously in deep thought.

As he ran up to her she turned toward him, clearly startled by his approach. "McGee, don't try and talk me out of this. I've made up my mind."

"Get in," he said. "I know where we're going. I'm driving."

A stunned look of surprise crossed her face.

McGee reached back and pulled out his Sig. Reaching into his pocked he pulled out one of the magazines Brogan and Andrews had given him and slapped it into his pistol. After putting it back in its holster he pulled out another one of the clips and put it into its holder on his belt. He looked up and saw EJ staring at his belt, or more precisely, staring at the place on his belt where his badge should have been.

"McGee …," she sighed, "What have you done?

"Give me the keys," he said, ignoring her question, his look grim.

"Tim, there's no going back for you … for either of us … once we go through this door!"

"I know."

She looked up at him, her face hesitant. "I'm scared," her voice was barely audible.

"Me too." He heard the faintest tremble in his own voice.

She nodded.

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I've got your back on this, EJ. Get in. Let's go get him back."

She handed him the keys while opening the door and sliding over to the passenger's side. McGee slid into the driver's seat and started the car. As he sped out of the parking lot he wondered if they would be alive or dead at the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming next: EJ and McGee continue on their suicide mission to save Gibbs.


	17. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizing the odds are against them and that survival may not be possible, EJ and McGee develop a plan born out of desperation to rescue Gibbs.

Although the distance from Rathburn's property to the base was only two miles as the crow flies, it was across the canal and the only way to drive there involved traveling north, crossing the canal on its mile-long floating bridge and then driving down into the peninsula where the farm was located. The drive had taken almost an hour, during which time neither EJ nor McGee spoke to each other, both lost in their thoughts.

EJ's mind raced, thoughts of Gibbs, both alive and dead, playing in her head. Would they get there in time? Could they save him if they did? Or would they perish in their desperate effort? Would she be able to see him before he - before they - were killed? Would she be able to tell him, before the end, that she loved him? Would she have the chance to hear those words from his lips one last time? Her throat tightened while the blood rushing in her ears made them ring.

The car lurched hard over a pothole, jerking her thoughts back to more immediate concerns. They were getting close. She began to wonder how – with just the two of them – they were going to pull this off. It was truly insane! The more she considered their options the more she realized they probably would not survive. She swallowed hard and looked over at McGee.

He caught her glance. "We're about five minutes out," he pressed out, his voice tense. "Weapons check."

She nodded, her face grim. Once again her training took over as she pulled her Sig-Sauer from its holster, checking to make sure a round was chambered. She ejected the magazine, confirming the number of rounds, smacked it against her palm to knock out any slack in the stack of bullets, then slammed it back into the pistol's handle, making sure it was solidly seated. She pulled her spare clip from its belt holder and inspected it the same way. After she checked her other two clips she leaned down and pulled her backup pistol from her ankle holster; a 38 caliber, Smith and Wesson, five-shot, sub-nosed revolver. Confirming it was fully loaded she replaced it in its holster and pulled her pant leg back down.

"Want me to do yours?" she asked.

He nodded and with one hand on the steering wheel he handed her his pistol and spare magazine, then pulled the other two magazines from his pocket.

"They're good," she said, as she handed him back them back to him, one at a time, while he replaced them on his person.

"Backup?" she asked.

"Glock 26. Right ankle," his reply was terse, his attention obviously on the road.

EJ reached down as he switched his right foot for his left on the gas pedal. She pulled the small, black, semi-automatic pistol from its holster and ran it through the same routine as her Sig. Satisfied it was ready she secured it back in its holster and patted his leg. "Good to go," she said, sitting back up and looking out the windshield.

"We're here," McGee said as he pointed to a mailbox perched on top of a wooden post at the end of a dirt road which turned off from the county road they were currently on.

As they passed by the driveway of the property EJ ran through their tactical options. Rathburn's farmhouse was surrounded by open fields, which in turn, were bordered by thick forests of fir and various deciduous trees. The driveway to the house was about two hundred yards long and there was a lot of open ground between the road and the house. Looking at McGee she could tell he was thinking hard about their plan of attack as well. He drove a quarter mile further, over a small hill and out of sight of the driveway, then pulled off to the side of the road.

"Let's get a closer look," he said.

She nodded.

Exiting the car McGee popped open the trunk and dug out the standard, military motor-pool emergency bag. Fishing through it he found a small pair of binoculars. He smiled at EJ as he held them out to her. She took them as he continued to search the bag for anything that might come in handy. A few seconds later he had collected three emergency road flares, a fifty foot length of parachute cord, a partial roll of duct tape and a multi-function utility tool, the type worn on one's hip like a knife.

She smirked at him as he pocketed his new treasures. He looked up and caught her grin. "What?" he whined, his voice slightly defensive.

EJ chuckled, "You're such a Boy Scout."

McGee's frown quickly morphed into a huge grin. "Yep," he said. "Eagle Scout!" His smile lasted only a moment, then his face fell serious again. He nodded toward the road, "Let's go."

Five minutes later they were lying on their bellies across from the driveway leading to the farm house, concealed by the thick undergrowth on that side of the road. Passing the binoculars back and forth they assessed the layout of the property and the pattern of the guards patrolling the house.

"Two guards outside," McGee said. "Looks like they walk the house perimeter about every five or six minutes. Probably more inside but I can't see any movement through the windows."

"Only two guards – that's our first break today," EJ said. "But there's no cover close to the house. Those fields will be a kill zone if we try to cross. Damn, Rathburn!" she hissed.

"He's no dummy," McGee agreed, then handed her the binoculars. "Take a look past the house toward the back. The tree line looks like it's a lot closer to the house than on the sides or the front. What would you say, about 25 yards?"

"Yeah, give or take a few," she said. "But that's still a long distance to cross quietly without cover, even if we time it perfectly when the guards are at the front of the house."

Silence enveloped them. EJ looked down, not seeing the ground in front of her, concentrating instead on a solution to their problem. She knew McGee's silence meant he was doing the same. Then it came to her. She snapped her head up and turned toward McGee, who was mirroring her movement and heard him speak the same word at the same time as she, "DIVERSION!"

EJ felt a grin explode across her face and watched as McGee's smile grew to match hers.

After a moment she turned, looking back toward the farm house. "But what …, how …?"

"I've got an idea," he said.

Five minutes later McGee had jury-rigged together a strange looking contraption from the materials he had procured from the car's emergency bag. Using the duct tape he taped the three flares together, all three ignition heads next to each other. On the other end of the bundle of flares he tied one end of the parachute cord. EJ watched as he worked, wondering how his invention would create their needed diversion.

Sensing her question, McGee explained. "I'll throw this over that branch," he pointed to a branch about 30 feet above their heads in the fir tree next to them. "It'll hang down to about 20 feet above the ground, easily visible from the house. These flares have a one hour burn time, so they should last long enough and burn bright enough to catch people's attention and bring them down here to check it out."

"OK," EJ said, with some idea of where this was going. "Then what?"

I'll sneak through the woods to the back of the house. You'll light the flares and that will give me the diversion I need to get into the house undetected. You come around to the back of the house to give me cover if I ...  _when_  I bring Gibbs out. They'll never know what hit them." Although there was a smile on his face she could hear the desperation in his voice.

"OK," she said. "I'm good with this, except we're gonna reverse roles. You'll light the flares and I'll slip into the house to find Gibbs."

McGee started to protest but EJ cut him off.

"Tim, I told Bishop and now I'm telling you. Gibbs is my responsibility. This isn't an NCIS operation any longer. He's not NCIS any more … and for that matter, neither are we! There isn't a power on earth that will keep me from going in that house and finding him. Do you understand?" she finished, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it.

McGee swallowed and nodded, looking down at her hand over his.

"Good," she said as she brought the binoculars back to her eyes. "See that old fir stump along the back side of the property at the tree-line?" she asked, handing the binoculars to McGee and pointing at her target.

"Yeah," he said.

"I'll station myself there," she explained. "As soon as you see me next to that stump, light the flares. Then circle around through the forest and I'll meet you there when I come out of the house. Be ready, Tim. This may get ugly."

"I've got your back, EJ!"

She turned and looked at him for a few quiet seconds, her smile expressing the gratitude she didn't know how to put into words.

"I know you do, Tim," she said, "And I trust you, completely. I think you're probably the best partner I've ever had."

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, watching as a scarlet blush run from his face down to his neck.

She rose and brushed herself off. "Give me five minutes to circle around through the woods. Watch for me at the stump and when you light the flares … then we'll  _kick some ass and take some names_ ," she said, grinning down at him.

McGee smiled and nodded and EJ turned and sprinted away through the forest.

The circuitous route through the forest took a little longer than she had anticipated, but her innate sense of direction served her well and she arrived at the back side of the property and crawled up to the side of the stump with a clear view of the back of the house. She looked past the house and the field all the way to the county road and across it to their secret observation point. A few seconds later she saw the road flares flash to life, giving off an eerie red glare, even in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

A shout came from the front of the house. The perimeter guard walking past the back of the house sprinted around the side and disappeared, running toward the front. She scanned the windows at the back of the house for movement inside, but saw nothing. This was it. It was now or never.

Fear gnawed at her stomach, a slight hint of nausea and the acrid taste of bile in the back of her throat. She looked down at her hands which trembled slightly. In the next sixty seconds she would be completely vulnerable, a sitting duck as she crossed the distance from the trees to the back of the house. No backup. No cover fire. Only McGee's simple diversion.

_Come on girl, get going. This is gonna work. It's too crazy not to. Gibbs is in there, I know he is. Now, let's go and get him out!_

At the thought of Gibbs she felt her fear turn into a deep, scalding anger. Anger at the men standing in her way. Anger at Rathburn for taking Gibbs from her. Anger that she had suffered so long thinking he was dead, when he was really alive. The anger shifted her focus and steadied her nerve, her determination becoming concrete.

Taking a deep breath she drew her pistol and moved forward quickly in an awkward crouching jog, trying to present as small a target as possible to anyone that might observe her approach. Crossing the open space in front of her seemed to take forever as her movements dropped into slow-motion. With each labored breath she tightened her muscles, anticipating the piercing pain of a bullet slamming into her. But no shots came her way and she dropped to her knees against the side of the house as she reached her goal, struggling to control her breathing and keep silent.

She crawled up onto the back porch from its side rather than walking up the steps, keeping her body out of sight from the door. Squatting on her heels she leaned her back up against the wall. Tilting her head she listened intently for any sound inside. Hearing nothing she slowly stood up, still pushing her back against the wall, her Sig ready. She peeked around to look through the window of the door into what she recognized was the kitchen. It was empty. She slowly tried the door knob and it turned easily, unlocked. Gently pushing the door open she breathed a sigh of relief when no squeak or other telltale sound escaped from it. When the door opened wide enough she ducked inside, closed it quickly and crouched down behind the countertop island in the middle of the large kitchen.

Toward the front of the house, probably outside on the porch, she could hear voices. Some normal, some louder and clearly agitated, but she couldn't make out the words. Looking around the spacious kitchen it dawned on her how big the entire house actually was and that Gibbs, if here, could be anywhere. She rolled her eyes and scowled at herself. This was going to take time; time she didn't have. She rose and moved softly toward the hallway at the other end of the kitchen.

McGee had spied EJ through the binoculars as she arrived at the stump at the back of the house. He immediately lit the flares and watched as EJ made her way across the small, open field. He lost sight of her as she approached and the house obstructed his view. Hearing no gunshots he let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, hoping that she had arrived safely.

Looking back toward the front of the farm house he was surprised to see three men already halfway down the driveway, obviously coming to check-out the ominous glow in the trees across the road. He turned and ran off into the forest, planning his route to bring him to the back of the house to wait for EJ.

A while later McGee arrived at the tree stump. He had made good time, but his haste had made it a difficult journey when he tripped and fell into a bramble of blackberries; the stickers bloodying his face and hands while tearing away at his pants and jacket. He was still cursing under his breath when he saw a man armed with an AK-47 assault rifle come around the corner of the house walking toward the back porch. His breath caught in his throat, effectively stopping his cursing. He froze, his gaze riveted on this new threat.

As he watched the man move closer to the porch he could still hear shouting from the front of the house. But this man had obviously not gone to investigate the bright light across the road and he was moving up to EJ's last known position. This was not good. This was  _definitely_  not good! The thug took each step slowly as he climbed to the back porch. As he reached out and opened the door McGee's heart stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming in the next chapter: Will EJ and McGee find Gibbs? And if they do, will it be too late - for all of them?!


	18. Onslaught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrett and McGee fight a loosing battle for their lives against overwhelming odds.

Struggling to calm her mind and still her breath EJ moved to the far side of the kitchen, crouched down, Sig in hand, just inside the door and peered around the corner into the adjacent hallway. Although she could still hear voices coming from the front of the house no one seemed to be in this area. McGee's distraction had obviously done its job. Looking straight ahead the hallway entered into what must be the living room of the old house. To the right the hall led past several doors and to the immediate left was a set of stairs leading to the second floor.

Movement in the living room caught her attention as an armed man walked past the hallway entrance into that room. Ducking back behind the kitchen door she listened, waiting to see if the man had seen the flicker of her movement. After a moment, with no footsteps sounding in the hallway, she peaked around the corner again, finding nothing. Exhaling in relief she stood and slipped through the entrance, stealthily moving down the right side of the hallway.

At the first door she stopped, pressed her ear against it and listened. Hearing nothing she tested the door knob - it turned freely. Bringing her pistol up she slowly and quietly opened the door and peaked inside. Checking behind the door and finding no one she relaxed just a little, taking in the contents of the room. It was large, perhaps an office or a den of some type. Closing the door softly behind her she surveyed the room more closely.

Four large folding tables filled the space, strewn with papers and documents and maps of all kinds. There were several laptop computers setup - their screen savers flashing random images - as well as two printers and what looked like a satellite telephone base station.

She looked down at the several maps on the table closest to her. One was a standard road map and the other, a topographical map - both of the Kitsap Peninsula, including Bremerton, Bangor and the surrounding area. In several places the road map was highlighted in yellow marker with what looked like military times scrawled along the major road leading from the South Puget Sound basin all the way through Bremerton, ending at the Bangor submarine base. She recognized the route - it was the same route planned for the transportation of nuclear warheads to Bangor tomorrow. McGee was right. Rathburn planned to target one of the trucks transporting a warhead.

Her breath caught as she realized it was less than 24 hours until the execution of his attack and that meant Gibbs was now a liability to Rathburn, not a potential information asset. If Gibbs was still alive his time was running dangerously short. She had to find him, now!

Bringing her focus back to her primary objective - finding and extracting Gibbs - she turned to leave the room. As she moved toward the door a large document on another table caught her eye. She quickly stepped over to examine it and found a technical schematic of what looked like a rocket. As she studied it further she realized it was a diagram of a TOW, ground-to-ground missile. McGee had been right again. The missile must have been stolen by Rathburn and logic dictated that he planned to use it to attack the warhead truck convey. A smirk of satisfaction crossed her face knowing she and her colleagues had thwarted another of Rathburn's terrorist attacks by rescheduling and rerouting the warhead convey. She shook her head, refocusing her attention. Right now, she needed to find Gibbs.

Turning back to the door EJ stepped forward and reached for the handle. Before she could grasp it the door knob turned by itself and the door opening inward. Standing directly in front of her was a large, dark-haired man with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder laying flat against his chest. For one instant they both froze in shock, eyes locked. In the next instant, all hell broke loose.

The man recovered from his surprise, stepped toward EJ and clutched at his rifle. She reached out and grabbed the rifle's sling strap, stepped backwards and to the side and pulled hard, leveraging his forward momentum as she stuck out a foot to trip him. Fighting to keep his balance the man let go of the rifle and staggered forward into the room, past EJ as she lost her grip on the sling. Although she put every ounce of strength in her effort the man was strong and recovered quickly, never falling. He turned toward her, hands gripping his rifle as he brought it up, preparing to fire. EJ brought her Sig up without thinking and snapped off two quick shots which found their intended mark - the center of the man's chest. He collapsed, dead on the spot.

Letting out a string of curses EJ moved back to the door and peaked around the edge into the hallway. It was empty, but she knew the shots would bring other armed assailants to her in short order. Abandoning caution she moved down the hallway back toward the kitchen, opening and checking each room as she went, her pistol ready. But each room was empty, no sign of Gibbs. Growling in frustration she slammed her fist into the hallway wall.

Crouching down EJ approached the hallway junction where, to her right was the entrance to the living room and to her left was the kitchen. Straight ahead, past the junction, the hallway was short and ended at the stairs leading upward. She needed to get to the second floor, needed to find Gibbs. With her presence known it was unlikely she would get out of this alive. But she had to know Gibbs's fate, whether he was alive or dead, it didn't matter now; she just had to know!

She could hear shouting outside the front of the house, voices coming closer. Peaking around the corner into the living room her eyes met those of another man as he sighted down the length of his pistol. Pulling away hard she fell back on her heels as several bullets ripped through the corner of the hallway she had just vacated. She regained her balance, her mind frantically searching for a plan of action. There was no other way out of this hallway and if she got pinned down here she wouldn't last long.

She snapped her head toward the left, her ears ringing as several shots were fired from the kitchen, followed by a heavy groan in the living room. For a split-second she thought her mind was playing tricks on her. The weapon fired from the kitchen sounded familiar, just like her agency issued, 40 caliber, Sig-Sauer. But that wasn't possible, unless ...

"EJ?!" it was McGee's voice shouting her name from the kitchen. For just an instant relief washed over her.

"McGee!" she called back.

"I've got you covered. Get in here. Stay low and to the right," he clipped out.

Following McGee's directions she peaked around the corner toward the living room. Finding no one in her line of sight she darted around the corner into the kitchen and joined McGee behind the island at the left side of the room.

Sliding down to the floor she caught his eyes and nodded, "Thanks, Tim."

McGee's expression was earnest as he nodded in return, then pulled his eyes back toward the living room, peering over the top of the counter from behind their island cover.

EJ sat catching her breath and considered their current situation. A soft chuckle left her throat and she shook her head.

"What is it?" McGee asked.

"Deja vu," she said. "This is almost exactly the same situation Gibbs and I were in a couple of months ago. We got stuck behind an island like this in a chemistry lab in a shot-out with some bad guys. It was one of Gibbs' PI cases."

"Oh, Yeah," McGee acknowledged. "Tony and Ziva told me about that."

"Except this time we've got plenty of ammo," she quipped.

"Maybe," he said. "But there's also a lot more guys with a lot more firepower."

"Boy, howdy!" EJ groaned in affirmation.

"Any sign of Gibbs?"

"No, nothing," she frowned. "I didn't have time to get upstairs."

Just then several short bursts of bullets ripped through the back door of the kitchen, splintering counter tops as they left a wake of destruction. Because the island was offset from the backdoor, their hiding spot was not in the line of fire.

McGee tipped his head toward the backdoor. Understanding his meaning EJ crawled over to the wall next to the door and slowly stood up to peak out its window. Luckily, in her current position, she couldn't be seen from the living room. Jerking her head to the window and then quickly back, she caught a glimpse of several men in the back of the house, crouching down behind a makeshift barricade made of several bales of hay they had brought from somewhere.

"Two guys with AK's" she said.

"Crap," he huffed.

As she dropped down back behind the island shots rang out from the living room followed by bullets hitting the wall behind them at the end of the kitchen, sending puffs of sheetrock dust into the air. On cue more shots zipped into the kitchen through the back door, crashing into cabinets and sending splinters of wood onto the floor. The onslaught of shots continued from both directions, sending EJ and McGee prone to the floor.

EJ's breath came in short bursts, her gut churned and she felt panic begin to crowd out rationale thought. They had no recourse to the barrage of bullets, no way to fire back without breaking cover and getting cut down in the process. Their enemies could wait them out, sending random bursts into the kitchen hoping for a lucky shot. But most likely they would engage in a frontal attack, using their overwhelming force in men and guns to end the battle quickly.

Worst of all she had not found Gibbs. She had failed him, sealing his fate, if he was not already dead. That realization ripped her heart open, her grief pouring out. Tears welled in her eyes. This was it, they were going to die, right here, in the middle of no-where. ' _Better to die quickly now,'_  she thought to herself, ' _than slowly, a piece at a time, without Gibbs.'_

Her head on the floor, she turned to look at McGee. She knew her fear showed in her face and she could see McGee's fear in his eyes. He reached over and grabbed her hand as bullets continued to fly into the room. She knew their aggressors would soon launch a full-scale attack on the kitchen. And a few seconds later both she and McGee would be dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will both EJ and McGee survive? Will Gibbs be found? And if so, will he be alive ..., or dead?


	19. Cavalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected help comes to the rescue, saving Barrett and McGee from certain death. Meanwhile they close in on finding the truth about Gibbs.

Without warning the barrage of bullets pummelling the kitchen stopped. But gunshots still resounded outside, their intensity increasing. Shouts were louder and more frantic with several screams of pain as men were obviously being shot.

For the second time in the past several minutes EJ thought her mind was playing tricks on her as she listened to the gun fire. Answering the sporadic blasts of AK 47 assault rifles were the staccato bursts of automatic weapons fire that sounded too familiar. She looked at McGee.

"P-90's," he breathed.

She nodded. The high-pitched moan of the new weapons joining the fray outside had to belong to military-issued, FN-P90 submachine guns. Hope surged through her as she realized they were no longer under fire and their enemies had engaged another force outside the house.

EJ and McGee continued to lay prone on the cold kitchen floor, listening to the fever pitch of the gun fight outside. Although the battle lasted for only a few minutes EJ felt as if they had been laying there for hours. Finally the gunfire stopped. Men still shouted outside, a frenzy of activity moving closer to the front of the house. Simultaneously she and McGee rose to their feet, crouching behind their island refuge, pistols at the ready, hoping beyond hope that the fight was over, but ready to engage the enemy if necessary.

She heard the front door slam open, frantic movement in the living room and someone shout, "Clear!"

Then another voice called out, "Barrett ... McGee!"

Glancing at McGee she saw the same shocked look she knew covered her own face. It was Bishop's voice calling their names - and she could hear no gunfire, anywhere.

"EJ ..., Tim," Bishop called again, his voice more urgent.

"Clear!" McGee shouted back.

Still not sure her senses were truthful she kept her gun ready, using the kitchen's island as cover incase this was a ruse. She heard footsteps walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and raised her pistol.

Christopher Bishop stepped through the doorway, dressed in full tactical assault gear, his P90 hanging on its sling across his chest. EJ lowered her pistol and released the breath she had been holding. For a moment she felt stunned, emotionless, confused ... and relieved.

"Man, are you a sight for sore eyes," McGee blurted out, exhaling and then dragging in a deep breath.

Bishop nodded at McGee, and looked at EJ. "You both OK?" he asked.

"Thanks to you we are," EJ sighed.

She walked over to Bishop, placing her hand on his arm. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I thought it was pretty obvious," he grinned back at her. "I brought the cavalry to the rescue."

"Geeze, Chris," she huffed out at him, shaking her head.

"By the way, I think these belong to you guys," he said, pulling out their badges and handing each to its owner.

"What's going on?" McGee said, confused.

"Thank Cozort," Bishop said. "Remember when Craig told Cozort we were all at his disposal? Well, Cozort decided he needed more intel from Rathburn's house if he was going to protect the base from any possible threat. That's when he sent us here to check it out," he paused, then continued, "and to back you up and get Gibbs out."

"Who is ' _us'_?" EJ asked.

"Me, Brogan, Andrews, our two MP friends," he paused, cracking a huge grin, "and as far as Craig is concerned, the two of you as well."

"Huh?" McGee said, confusion still in his voice.

"Craig doesn't know you guys turned in your badges. Cozort told him the seven of us were dispatched here to conduct recon and gather intel." He shrugged, "Anyway, as the Agent in Charge I never  _accepted_  anyone's resignation. So you're still reporting to me. Sorry," he said sarcastically, his grin widening.

"Thank you, Chris," EJ breathed out.

"Ditto," McGee said.

"What about Gibbs? Any luck?" Bishop asked, looking at EJ.

At his question she shuddered realizing that in the heat of their battle and the relief of their rescue she had forgotten why she had come in the first place.

"No," she said frantically, "but I didn't get a chance to look upstairs." She bolted from the room to the hallway, heading toward the stairs.

"EJ, wait," Bishop called after her, but she was already at the first step, her pistol drawn, moving up the stairs.

Both Bishop and McGee followed her to the second floor and within five minutes they had cleared each room, finding no sign of Gibbs.

EJ plopped down at the top of the stairs, hanging her head, tears attacking her eyes. She heard Bishop and McGee walk up behind her.

"I thought for sure he was here. I wanted him to be here," she choked out her words, struggling for air. "I needed him to be here."

"I can't figure out why he's not," Bishop said. "I thought for sure Rathburn wouldn't let him out of his sight."

EJ snapped her head up, glaring at Bishop. "What?" she barked. "Are you saying Rathburn is here?"

"Yeah," Bishop responded. "Andrews and Brogan have him and some of his goons cuffed in the living room. I recognized him from the photos in your case file on this guy. You know he wasn't ..." his voice trailed off as EJ jumped upright, bounding down the stairs.

Dashing into the living room she saw Brogan and Andrews, P90's in hand, guarding several men resting on their knees, their hands zip-cuffed behind them. Recognizing Rathburn she bolted over to him, pulled out her Sig and burrowed it into the side of his head before either agent could react. Everyone stared at her, speechless, as McGee and Bishop entered the room, hot on her heels.

"Where is he, you piece of shit?" she shouted at Rathburn. "Tell me where he is right now or I'll splatter your fucking brains all over the wall." She cocked the hammer of her pistol, pushing it harder into Rathburn's temple.

"EJ," Bishop shouted, "stand down!"

EJ felt her head swim. Months of anger, grief and fear crashed into each other as her body tensed, ready to explode, her mind its hair-trigger. "This bastard's got Gibbs, Chris. He's had him long enough and now he's gonna give him back. He's either gonna give him back or the bastard's gonna die, right here, right now!"

"Put the weapon down," Bishop's voice was calmer now. "Please, EJ."

She didn't look at Bishop, but instead glowered down at Rathburn who was glaring defiantly back at her. "You hear that, you son-of-a-bitch? I've got nothing to loose. Put-up, or die, right now!" she shoved the pistol hard into the side of his head. "Where is he?"

"EJ," McGee said. "He's not worth it. The boss ..., Gibbs ..., wouldn't want this. If you kill him, he wins. Don't let him win, EJ."

"Don't you see, Tim," she pushed out, her jaw so tight it almost ached, never taking her eyes off Rathburn, "there is no win or loose any more. There's just life and death. Gibbs is either alive, or they're BOTH dead!"

"I'm afraid, then, death it is," Rathburn hissed, his voice thick with disdain. "Like you, I also have nothing to loose." EJ stared down at him, shocked he had spoken.

"Alas, Agent Barrett, your lover was useless to me. Even after significant efforts to extract information from him he proved too stubborn. I decided to cut my losses. I am a businessman, after all."

Rage exploded in her. Her heart raced, the blood pounding in her ears made them throb with pain. Tears spilled from her eyes and the ache in her chest was so deep she knew it would never leave. Gibbs was dead and this bastard had killed him. There was nothing left for her. She pushed the pistol harder into Rathburn's temple, her finger tightening on the trigger. Everything else disappeared as her senses dulled. The pleas from her colleagues were faded echoes in the back of her mind. She was aware of only her eyes as they bored into his, seeing the malice and evil behind them. She made her decision and closed her eyes, ready for the explosive shock of her pistol to kick her hand back as a bullet ploughed through Rathburn's skull.

With her eyes closed hearing replaced sight as her primary sense. And out of the muffled chaos in the background she heard McGee shouting at her, his voice becoming clear.

"Wait! Wait! Listen. EJ, listen. Do you hear it? Do you hear the knocking? Someone is here. It has to be Gibbs. EJ, don't shoot!"

She paused, her eyes still closed, McGee still shouting at her. But over the din of his voice she heard it. A steady, rhythmic, metallic knocking. Not random, not passing, but steady and purposeful. Someone was alive somewhere in the house, trying to get their attention.

Against all odds her hope flared. She opened her eyes and looked toward McGee. She dropped her pistol to her side, exhaling as she collapsed to her knees, exhausted. McGee rushed over, took her gun and placed it in her holster, helped her rise and guided her to the side of the room. She grabbed at his waist, burrowing her head into his shoulder, allowing him to support her weight.

"Brogan," Bishop barked, "you're with me. Andrews, stay here with these pricks. Radio Mashiro and tell him to sit tight on the other guys we cuffed outside." He set off from the living room, listening and following the sound, Brogan right behind him.

As Bishop and Brogan searched for the source of the knocking, EJ continued to lean on McGee for support, her body trembling, struggling to regain her breath and gather her wits. Shame blanketed her as she forced herself to look up at him. "I'm sorry, Tim. Thanks. Thanks for not letting me cross that line."

McGee smiled back and said nothing, continuing to hold onto her, supporting her weight.

As she regained her strength and focus she tentatively stepped back from him, testing the stability of her legs, making sure she could stand on her own. Finding she could maintain her balance she stood straight and McGee relinquished his hold.

A few seconds later Bishop yelled out from the kitchen, "EJ, McGee, in here!"

Turning, she staggered on wobbly legs into the kitchen, her chest tight as she looked at Bishop anxiously. McGee followed behind her.

"Listen," Bishop said. "We've checked the entire house. We can't find anything, but it's loudest here. Sounds like it's coming from below."

"But there's no basement in this house," Brogan offered.

"Maybe there is," McGee said, as he cocked his head, a pensive look on his face.

"What are you thinking, McGee?" Brogan asked.

"This house was probably built in the 50's or 60's, right in the middle of the 'Cold War' era," McGee elaborated. "Back then the Puget Sound was considered a first strike target for Russian nuclear missiles."

"I don't follow you," Bishop said, his impatience easily detectable.

"With an Army, Air Force and two Naval bases located in the region, as well as the center of the US aerospace industry residing in Seattle with Boeing's headquarters and Lockheed-Martin major manufacturing facilities, this place would have been nuke central in the event of a nuclear attack," McGee continued.

"Is there a point to this," Bishop's impatience was unbridled now.

"Fall-out shelters!" McGee said.

"What?" EJ interjected.

"There probably wasn't a house built in this region at that time that didn't have a fall-out shelter either underneath or somewhere on the property," McGee was flustered as he tried to finish his explanation. "These weren't basements with regular entrances. They were survival shelters meant to be used only in an emergency. What if this house has one? What if that's where the noise is coming from?"

"That's pretty far fetched," Bishop said.

EJ turned to Bishop and could see the doubt in his eyes. But the knocking still assailed her ears, though it seemed to be getting weaker as minutes passed. It had to be coming from somewhere and she needed to find out where, and fast. Then a thought popped into her mind and she broke out into laughter.

Bishop, Brogan and McGee all gave her incredulous glares.

"Not again, EJ!" Bishop scowled. "What's so damn funny this time?"

"You are, Chris," she chirped out between breaths.

"EJ …," he growled at her.

"Chris, you're doubting the guy who figured out Rathburn's plan from the very beginning. How far fetched is that? My money's on McGee!"

She turned to McGee. "OK, Tim, how do we find the entrance to this shelter?"

McGee smiled from ear to ear as he clipped off directions. "OK, look for any type of openings, like trap doors in the floors, inside closets, somewhere you normally would not expect to find a door. Let's start in here because this is where the knocking is the loudest."

Minutes passed as the four agents frantically searched the kitchen. On her knees, EJ scrutinized the tile floor, looking for seams or splits in the tiles that might indicate the presence of a trap door. Bishop opened the walk-in pantry and started moving food aside, searching for some type of opening against the back wall or in the floor.

Finally Brogan shouted out, "I think I found it," and started to pull the refrigerator out from the wall.

Crowding around him they watched as he crouched down to where the appliance had sat. Embedded in the floor was a small handle. Brogan grabbed it and pulled. A three foot square piece of floor lifted up, hinged underneath on one side connected to the under-flooring. Leading down from the hole in the floor was a steep set of steps, light shining up from the depths. The knocking was clearly coming from down below.

In a flash EJ dropped to the floor and swung her legs over the edge, her feet hitting the second step before anyone could stop her. She stood up on the step and grabbed the left hand rail while her right hand pulled out her pistol.

"Damn it, EJ." Bishop complained, "Not again. Let one of us go first."

She glared up at him. "Get off my ass, Chris!" she growled. "You guys better hurry up and cover my six cause I'm going down there, with or without you." She started to maneuver down the treacherously steep steps.

Bishop moved first, coming up so close behind EJ his toes were clipping her heels. He turned back to Brogan, "Mike, you stay here. And stay sharp."

"Right, Boss," Brogan snapped back.

Bishop turned and disappeared down the steps, McGee following close behind.

The first thing EJ noticed when she reached the concrete floor was the cold, dank air. A shiver went right through to her bones, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She wasn't sure if the shiver was caused by the cold air, fear of attack, or anticipation that Gibbs may be alive and only a few feet away from her at that very moment.

Not only was the floor concrete, but so were the hallway walls. She looked down the to end of the hall, about 60 feet away. On either side were several metal doors. A dozen or so bare, glaring light bulbs hung from the ceiling every few feet the entire length of the hallway.

"Holy cow," she heard McGee mutter as he came up behind her. "This thing must be as long and wide as the house. It's not a shelter, it's a freakin' bunker."

"Shh!" she said, glaring back at McGee. "Listen," she whispered.

The knocking had become fainter and less frequent. EJ walked slowly down the hallway, stopping and listening at each door. As she passed a room McGee and Bishop would crack open the door and burst in, scanning each room for a few seconds to determine if any threat existed and then move back into the hallway, following EJ. Halfway down the hall she stopped at one door, pushing her ear up against it, McGee and Bishop close behind her.

"This is it," she breathed.

Her chest tightened. Her pulse stared to pound in her temples. This was either a trap where she would meet her final demise, or this was Gibbs. She put her hand on the door knob and hesitated, looking over her shoulder at McGee and Bishop. Both had their pistols ready and nodded to her. She brought her Sig up, turned the door knob, slammed the door open and rushed inside the room, peeling off to the right while McGee and Bishop entered, moving to the left.

The light in the room was dim. Her eyes struggled to adjust from the blinding brightness of the hallway. Slowly her vision adapted and she saw a figure laying on the ground at the back of the room. The person's foot was kicking weakly at a steam heating pipe that ran along the baseboard of the back wall of the room, obviously the source of the knocking and why it resounded throughout the house.

EJ's stomach lurched. Her feet were glued to the floor and she had to consciously will them to move forward. Out of the corner of her eye she saw both Bishop and McGee frozen in place, weapons ready, but neither moving a muscle. Slowly approaching the figure on the floor she held her breath, hoping against hope it was Gibbs, but afraid of what she might do if it was not.

Stepping up to the barely moving body she leaned down to get a better look. On it's own accord her body took in a sharp breath and froze for an instant. Then she dropped her gun and collapsed to her knees, racking sobs pouring out deep from within her as she grabbed Gibbs' head and gently cradled it in her lap, rocking back and forth.

McGee and Bishop rushed over, staring down at EJ and the shell of a man she held.

"EJ," McGee, said, trying to get her attention, but her hysterical sobs blocked out any rational thought. He touched her shoulder. "EJ!" he said more forcefully. Still she didn't respond. He dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed her face in both hands. "EJ!" he was almost shouting now, pulling her face up to meet his. Through her hysterical tears she recognized McGee's face and locked her eyes with his.

"He's in really bad shape. I mean  _really_  bad!" McGee's voice was tense, focused. "We've got to get him medical help, now!"

She shook her head forcing herself to focus on Gibbs. His eyes fluttered as he slipped in and out of consciousness. His breathing was shallow and ragged. Even covered by the jumpsuit his gauntness was striking; his frame frighteningly thin compared to normal. And his face, neck, hands and feet were covered with bruises, not boding well for the rest of his body hidden by the suit. Suddenly she realized the direness of his situation and she could taste the fear in her throat again. She had found him - alive. But there was still a chance she might loose him, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - EJ battles for Gibbs' life. But it's a battle she can't fight with bullets and badges.


	20. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibbs is rushed to the hospital via helicopter while EJ battles against efforts to keep her from Gibbs' side as he fights for his life.

The downwash from the MEDVAC helicopter stung EJ's eyes as it descended, finally landing in the field in front of the farm house. The engine noise and the blast from its rotors continued relentlessly as a Marine hospital corpsman slid open it's side door, jumped down and ran to where she, McGee and Bishop were hovering protectively over Gibbs' unconscious body.

Immediately after they found Gibbs in the fallout bunker Bishop had phoned Cozort, briefing him on the situation and Gibbs' condition and requesting an emergency medical evacuation. Cozort had called Whidby Island Naval Air Station requesting assistance from the base commander who scrambled the Sikorsky MEDVAC helicopter, directing it to their coordinates. It had taken the three of them almost 15 minutes to check Gibbs out to determine if he could be moved and then wrestle his dead weight down the hall and up the narrow set of steps, the last part being extremely difficult and time consuming. By the time they moved him outside EJ could hear the helicopter approaching.

On her knees, Gibbs' head cradled in her lap, EJ listened as the corpsman approached Bishop. McGee stood next to her, intent on their conversation.

"I'm Sergeant Weston," the corpsman clipped out quickly, shouting over the deep whine of the helicopter's engines. "Can you give me a sit-rep?"

"Special Agent Bishop, NCIS." Bishop reciprocated. "We just rescued this man," he said, pointing to Gibbs laying on the ground. "He's been a prisoner and been tortured for over three months." His face was grim as he continued, "His vitals are failing. We need to get him to a hospital."

"Roger that, sir," the corpsman said. Shoving a clipboard at Bishop the medic continued, "Sir, I need someone to fill out the patient's  _vital info_  on this form. We gotta move fast. Can you do that, Sir?" Bishop nodded and grabbed the clipboard.

Weston quickly stepped over to Gibbs and EJ and knelt down. He pulled out a pen-sized flashlight and moved to Gibbs's head in EJ's lap. "Sorry Ma'am, you'll have to let go."

"Like hell," EJ said, her words came out harsher than she had intended, but she wasn't going to let go of Gibbs now, not for anything.

The surprise on the Marine's face lasted only a moment and then his experience surfaced and he quickly outlined the situation for her. "Ma'am, I need to evaluate him. You need to step back so I can do that. Every second is critical."

EJ didn't move, rooted in place. She saw the displeasure on the man's face as he turned toward Bishop.

"Agent Bishop," he shouted, "please take this lady somewhere else."

EJ scowled at the corpsman. "It's NCIS Special Agent Barrett," she growled back at him, "and I'm not going anywhere!"

Just as the words finished leaving her mouth she felt Bishop grabbing her arms and pulling her up. As he lifted her out of the way the medic took over supporting Gibbs head. EJ struggled against Bishop only for a second, but she had no fight left in her. Giving up she sunk into his chest, staring down at the corpsman as he worked on Gibbs.

The medic looked up at McGee. "Take his head and hold it like this," he said, demonstrating what he wanted McGee to do. "I need you to support his head and neck while I evaluate him." McGee dropped to his knees behind Gibbs' head and assumed the position the medic had shown him.

EJ watched Weston hovering over Gibbs. Sound faded away as her vision narrowed to a pinpoint where only the Marine and Gibbs existed. Time slowed to a crawl as she watched the medic's skilled hands move; touching, prodding, searching, testing. Gibbs looked weak and fragile laying unconscious on the grass, so unlike the strong and powerful man she had fallen in love with over a decade earlier. So unlike the man who had come to her not so long ago, willing to change; finding the strength to risk his love and heart again, trusting them to her. He had fought and survived long enough for her to find him. And she  _had_  found him. He needed her now. It was her job to protect him. It was time for her to take over, to keep him alive, no matter what. She owed him nothing less.

After a few moments the medic waved over to the helicopter, his movement pulling EJ from her reverie. Two more medics jumped out with a stretcher. A minute later the three corpsmen were hoisting Gibbs' stretcher into the back of the helicopter.

EJ pulled away from Bishop's loose grasp and ran over to the helicopter. "I'm going with him," she shouted over the engine and the wind.

"Sorry, Ma'am," Weston said. "No can do."

"Bullshit, Sergeant!" EJ spat back. "I'm getting on that chopper. He's not leaving my sight."

"Agent Barrett, I don't have time for this," he scowled back at EJ, his patience obviously having run out. Turning he shouted orders to the other medics as they worked to secure the stretcher for flight.

Panic gripped her. Once again Gibbs' life was slipping from her grasp, just like in her nightmares. She reached out, her hand trembling, and grabbed Weston's arm. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Please," she pleaded, pain in her voice, "I can't loose him again."

Weston turned toward her. His face had softened. But he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ma'am." He turned back toward the helicopter and began to study the information on the clipboard Bishop had handed him.

Releasing a weary sigh her chin dropped to her chest and her shoulders slumped, defeated once again. She glanced over at Bishop, then McGee, both wearing pained expressions. She knew they could see the fear and grief on her face.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Weston freeze as his finger traced down the paper on the clipboard. He spun around and stared at her, his mouth hanging open.

"Ma'am," he said, his face contorted, a combination of surprise and concern. "This man's name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Is that Marine Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs?" his voice was urgent, almost needy in its tone.

"Yes," EJ shouted anxiously over the thrum of the engines. "Why?"

"Sergeant Gibbs served with my father during Operation Desert Storm. My father was captain of a Marine company and Gibbs was a sniper under his command. He saved my father's life."

EJ stood stark still. For a few seconds Weston was speechless and those moments seemed to drag on forever as her stomach churned, the trembling moving from her hands all the way through her body. She watched the Marine, praying about his next move.

"Get in, Ma'am," he motioned for EJ to step in front of him and into the helicopter.

Her heart skipped a beat as relief coursed through her. "Thank you, Sergeant," she choked out as she climbed in.

"We're taking him to Madigan Army Medical Center, in Tacoma," Weston shouted back at Bishop and McGee from the open door as the helicopter began it's slow ascent.

Time ceased to exist for EJ during the twenty minute flight to the hospital. One minute she had ensconced herself next to Gibbs after the medics completed hooking him up to various monitors and machines; watching their readouts and listening to their beeps and clicks and whirrs. The next minute her feet hit the landing pad, following the medics as they transferred Gibbs to a gurney and rushed him into the hospital through large double glass doors that opened to swallow them up and then slid silently shut behind her.

Once inside the three Marine corpsmen turned over their charge to the hospital's emergency trauma team. They started to wheel Gibbs down the hallway, EJ following closely. Quickly she turned and smiled back at Weston. "I don't know how to thank you, Sergeant," she said.

"Just help that old jarhead get better, Ma'am," he replied. "And tell him 'Semper Fi', from Frank Weston's kid." He snapped to attention and gave her a quick salute, then turned on his heel and headed out the door, the other two corpsmen right behind him.

She followed the gurney down one corridor, and then another, and then another, until finally it stopped in front of a large set of wooden double doors with a sign mounted above that read 'Critical Care Unit.' As the doors opened and the gurney was pushed inside EJ stepped forward to follow, only to find a very large and very imposing older man dressed in green medical scrubs blocking her way. The photo badge hanging at the end of a lanyard draped around his neck identified him as a charge nurse for this unit and his name was Flynn. She looked past Flynn at the gurney going through the doors and began to step around the large man, but he side-stepped and continued to block her way. Anticipating a knock-down, dragged-out battle to be able to stay with Gibbs she planted her feet and squared her shoulders.

EJ glared up into the nurse's face, ready for a fight, but found something completely different when her eyes met his. Despite his imposing size Flynn's eyes were soft, his face compassionate, almost fatherly. He looked down at her and there was something knowing in his face. She stood, motionless, not understanding her reaction. Speech failed her as she sputtered.

"You must be Agent Barrett," Flynn said, his voice as gentle as his expression, with a slight Irish brogue.

EJ nodded, her mind still spinning at the contradiction of this man. "How …, how do you know who I am?" she managed to squeeze out.

"Sergeant Weston radioed ahead. I've known him a long time. He's a good lad. He told me to take good care of Sergeant Gibbs …, and you, too."

"Oh," was all EJ could muster.

"Lass," he said, his brogue a bit thicker now, "there's nothing you can do for him right now. What say we let the doc's do what they do best."

EJ turned her attention to the floor. Bringing her hands together she started nervously kneading her fingers.

"You must love him a lot, Dear," Flynn said, stepping closer to EJ.

She swallowed hard and nodded, the telltale burning in her eyes announcing that tears had once again arrived. She wiped her cheek with her sleeve.

Closing the distance Flynn wrapped one huge arm around EJ and pulled her into him. She clutched at his scrub top and cursed the return of the trembling she had been fighting off and on all day.

For a brief moment in time Gibbs had come back to her; she had held him, touched him, told him how much she loved him. But it had been a hollow reunion, as an unconscious and near death Gibbs could not return her whispers of love or her soft caresses. She ached to look into his blue eyes, to feel his fingers squeeze her hand, to touch his lips with hers. But now that chance might have vanished before it had even become real again.

"Come on, Darlin'," he smiled down at her. "Let's get you settled in the waiting room. You need some water. And a skinny little thing like you could probably use something to eat as well."

She nodded and was surprised when she let out a choked chuckle. This man understood. He obviously knew about love and family and pain and grief. She was thankful that right now, in this place and in this time she had been blessed with someone she could trust.

Still holding tightly to the huge man she walked with him down the hall and into the waiting room. Fear clutched at her chest. She was powerless. Gibbs life was hanging in the balance and there was nothing she could do. Nothing, but wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - EJ waits as Gibbs' fate is uncertain.


	21. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nothing to do but wait, EJ suffers through her worst fears.

EJ paced back and forth in the waiting room, a bottle of water in her hand and a half eaten bagel sitting on an end table, courtesy of Nurse Flynn. Her efforts to keep her mind off Gibbs had failed miserably. Scanning through the various magazines laying around the room had taken her no more than ten minutes. The television mounted on the wall had captured her attention for even less time as she dispatched every channel in less than five minutes. As tired as she was her mind wouldn't shut-up and her body wouldn't stop vibrating, making sitting for any period longer than a few minutes intolerable.

"Ahem," the sound of someone clearing his throat stopped her in her tracks. Turning she followed the sound to the waiting room door and the source of her interruption. A short, dark haired man stood there, dressed in a white lab coat with a stethoscope draped around is neck, the quintessential uniform of a physician. "Agent Barrett?" the doctor asked.

Her shoulders clenched painfully. "Yes," she said, almost too quiet to be heard.

"I'm Colonel Ritchie ...," he paused and shook his head as if clearing his mind. "Sorry," he continued. "I'm Doctor Ritchie. I'm the lead physician caring for Sergeant Gibbs."

Her heart started to pound. The loud sound of blood rushing in her ears, which she hated so much, made it hard to hear. She stepped closer to him, wanting to know about Gibbs but terrified about what he might tell her. Was Gibbs alive or dead? No matter what, she needed to know.

"Is he …, she paused, unable to ask the question. Swallowing hard she opened her mouth to try again.

But the doctor beat her to it. "He's alive."

She exhaled hard, collapsing onto the couch.

She looked up at the doctor, her face pleading. "Is he gonna be OK?"

Ritchie coughed and cleared his throat nervously. "He's in bad shape. He is severely malnourished, but his dehydration is more serious. Some of his organs were showing signs of failure when we got him into the ER. As you could see, he's pretty banged up; couple of broken ribs, his right lung is bruised and so is his spleen, contusions everywhere. He also has a concussion."

"Can I see him," her voice was small, defeated.

"We're keeping him unconscious in order to manage his pain and to give his body a fighting chance to heal itself. He won't know you're there," Ritchie explained.

"Please, Doctor Ritchie. I just want to sit with him."

He sighed, then nodded. "I'll have Nurse Flynn get you set-up in his room. It's going to be three or four hours before we release him from observation. You'll need to wait here until then. You might want to get some rest."

Ritchie shifted nervously, looked down at the floor and then took in a deep breath, "Agent Barrett, I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I would be remiss if I didn't tell you his chance of survival is questionable right now. We'll know more in a couple of hours."

"I understand," she said quietly. "Thank you, Doctor."

He nodded and rose to leave, but stopped in mid-stride, turning back to her as he took something out of his pocket.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked, holding the object out for her inspection.

She let out a strangled gasp. Dangling from Ritchie's hand was her cameo locket. She nodded vigorously. "It's mine," she said. "A present from Gibbs …, a long time ago."

She reached out and gingerly took the locket, cradling it in both hands, staring down at it. She looked back up at Ritchie, confused. "Where did you find this?"

"Sergeant Gibbs had it. He was clutching it in his right hand. I had a hell of a time prying his fist open, but when I did, there it was."

"I thought I'd lost it," she said as she fastened it around her neck.

"I don't mean to pry," the doctor said, "but I'm assuming you're Sergeant Gibbs' immediate family. Is he your father, or an uncle perhaps?"

Such a question at any other time would have sent EJ into an angry tirade. She had grown tired of the age related stereo-types people placed on her and Gibbs' relationship. But her exhaustion, combined with her relief that Gibbs was alive and gratitude for the return of her locket, quelled her temper.

"No, not a father or uncle," she smiled at the doctor.

"Oh," he replied, his confusion obvious.

"Doctor," she said, her gaze commanding, her voice finding a certainty she had not felt in months, "you need to bring that Marine back to me, because when he's better I'm gonna slap a ring on his finger and drag him to the alter, even if he's kicking and screaming!"

"Oh!" this time the doctor understood and he smiled back at her.

Ritchie looked down at EJ, his expression turning serious. "We're going to do our best for the sergeant, Agent Barrett. He's a genuine military hero and we're a genuine military hospital and we don't leave our people behind."

"Thank you, Colonel," EJ said, purposefully using the title of his rank, understanding the commitment he had just made to her as a soldier. Ritchie nodded, turned and walked into the corridor.

She slumped back into the couch, her body aching and weary, her mind numb, as sleep finally overpowered her.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, or off to the side, or perhaps above her, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. Awareness slowly filtered through as the voice became clearer.

"EJ. EJ, it's me. EJ, we're here."

Realizing she must have dozed off she slowly opened her eyes to find Abby Schuto sitting on the couch, hovering over her. "EJ, we're here. We're here!"

As EJ showed signs of life Abby closed the gap between them, her face just inches away. "Oh, EJ, I'm so glad you're OK," Abby burst out sobbing as she leaned over EJ and enveloped her into a hug so tight EJ found it difficult to breath. She could feel the tears on her neck while Abby's sobs shook her shoulders.

After a few moments Abby started to calm, relaxing her grip. EJ sat up, disoriented, surveying her surroundings. Quickly her circumstance returned to her. She recognized the waiting room, the harsh and sterile aromas, the muffled sounds in the hallway and remembered her arrival at the hospital with Gibbs.

Shaking her head she blinked back the fatigue in her eyes. Looking beyond Abby she was aware of several other people in the room. As she focused her gaze a gasp escaped her lips.

"What are you all doing here?" her voice rasped out from her parched throat.

Standing behind Abby looking down at her were Tony DiNozzo, Ziva David and Jerome Craig. Ducky Mallard sat in a chair next to she and Abby. All stared at her, concerned looks on their faces. EJ shook her head hard, trying to make sense of the scene before her.

"We're here for you," Abby said, sitting back and wiping her eyes with the palms of her hands.

"But …," EJ sputtered, struggling to turn swirling thoughts into words. "How …, why …?"

Craig stepped up next to Abby. "EJ, I'm so sorry this happened."

"Director?" was all she could say.

"This is still an NCIS case and I wanted my best people on it." He continued his explanation, "It's nice to have friends in high places with Lear Jets. Makes traveling easier." A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You're still part of our family EJ. You always will be, in spite of everything."

"Thank you, Director," she said, still stunned at seeing them all in front of her.

Craig continued, "EJ, we're so sorry. I just don't know what else to say," his face was pained and distraught. "Whatever you need, EJ …, anything …, just ask!"

EJ looked around at the team, everyone nodding their heads, affirming Craig's commitment. Glancing over each person she stopped at Ziva's face. Tears flowed freely down Ziva's cheeks, dripping off her chin. Both hands gripped Tony's arm and she had pulled herself tight into his side. Ziva's demeanor was startling. For her to show such strong feelings in public was unheard of, especially around the director. She was obviously in tremendous emotional pain, but EJ didn't think she and Ziva had become close enough to warrant such a severe reaction from the Israeli.

She began to feel an almost imperceptible twinge of uneasiness flutter in her stomach. Slowly it grew as the discomfort radiated up into her chest. But before she could pay any more attention to it Doctor Ritchie and Nurse Flynn walked into the waiting room.

At their arrival EJ watched her colleagues' expressions turn grim as they exchanged looks with the doctor and nurse. The twinge progressed upward into her throat as it tightened - her mouth and lips, numb. She felt the uneasiness morph into fear at what their faces were suggesting, but of which no one would speak. A thick, morbid silence enveloped the room. She found breathing difficult as her fear swelled into a smothering panic.

"What is it?" she croaked from dry lips. "What's happened?" She looked frantically from face to face, searching for an answer. No one spoke. Instead, the team glanced around at each other, questioning looks on their faces, then their gazes focused on the doctor and nurse.

"Damn it," she gritted out, "some one tell me what the hell's going on!"

Craig looked at Doctor Ritchie. "You haven't told her?" his voice was incredulous.

"She was asleep," Ritchie said defensively while Flynn nodded in support of the doctor.

"Tell me what?!" EJ was almost shouting now.

The thick silence returned to the room, no one breathed, all eyes on the doctor. He swallowed hard and looked down at EJ. "I'm sorry, Agent Barrett …," he paused.

But before he could continue EJ shouted out, "Noooooo!" She turned her eyes to the floor, shaking her head back and forth, her worst fear forcing it's way into her mind.

"No," she said again, her voice quieter, shaking her head harder, pulling her feet underneath her as she cowered back into the corner of the couching wrapping her arms around herself, her heart pounding madly.

"No," her voice was almost a whisper now. Her body shook violently.

"I'm sorry, Agent Barrett," the doctor started again, struggled to speak, his voice strained. "Sergeant Gibbs didn't make it. He died about 30 minutes ago. I'm …, I'm sorry."

Her mind battled against the doctor's words, denying he had uttered them, frantically searching for another meaning, another explanation. But her heart felt heavy at what she heard, knowing the truth of it. Raw, searing pain surged upward from deep inside and suddenly the silence of the room was shattered as her piercing wail unleashed all of the fear and grief she had bottled up inside her for so long.

She felt someone grab her shoulders, shaking her hard. "EJ!" the voice shouted at her. "EJ!"

The overwhelming despair dulled her senses, making it hard to hear and feel.

"EJ!" the voice shouted again. The shaking was harder, demanding her attention, making it impossible to ignore any longer.

"EJ, wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open. Terror wrapped around her throat like a vice. She jerked upright, her breath coming hard and fast. Struggling to focus she stared at the person in front of her, drawing a few more strangled breaths before realizing it was McGee. Her eyes darted around the waiting room searching for the rest of the team, but it was empty except for him.

EJ locked eyes with her partner. "Where are the others?" she asked, her voice shaking.

McGee looked confused, "What others?" he asked.

"Tony and Ziva and Craig and ..." her voice trailed off as McGee's expression softened.

"You were having a nightmare," he said. "You started screaming and I woke you."

She hesitated, afraid to ask about Gibbs; afraid the very act of asking might make her nightmare come true.

McGee seemed to know what troubled her as he offered the answer to her unasked question. "Gibbs is OK. He's been moved to his room."

She fell back into the couch, relief flooding over her. After a few moments she managed to calm her breathing.

"How long have you been here, Tim?"

"About an hour," he replied.

"Is Chris here?"

"Yeah. He's down the hall. He's been on the phone with Craig all afternoon."

She nodded. "What about Rathburn?"

"He and his men are in custody. They're being transported to the Fort Lewis brig."

"Any word on the TOW missile?"

"Actually, yes. The materials you found in the house had intel about its location. Bishop relayed the information to MTAC and Craig deployed the Ranger/Seal strike force by helicopter. In less than forty-five minutes they recovered the missile."

"Thank God," EJ breathed.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall she was shocked. She had been asleep for almost four hours. Looking past McGee she saw her own reflection in the room's window and realized it was dark outside.

She was exhausted, mentally and physically. The emotional roller-coaster she had been strapped into hadn't stopped since the night before. She had almost had sex with Bishop, then was confronted with a nuclear threat, while discovering that Gibbs was alive, only to be denied the opportunity to save him, forcing her to quit her job, which pressured McGee to follow her on a suicide mission, where they were saved at the last minute from certain death, eventually finding Gibbs alive, only to end up in this hospital with Gibbs on the verge of death. She rolled her eyes at the litany of her day as some part of her found it's absolute absurdity humorous.

Another part of her, though, felt lost and scared. She was loosing control and she knew it. The months of grief combined with the insanity and emotional rawness of the past several days had stripped away her sense of self, layer by layer. She was afraid she might not be able to hold it together much longer.

"Agent Barrett," Flynn's Irish brogue broke her concentration. She looked up at the large man's gentle face. "Lass, I'm here to get ya settled in Sergeant Gibbs' room. He's there now and doing fine."

Relief surged through her as she choked out, "Thank you," to the nurse.

He looked down at the half-eaten bagel on the end table, then brought his eyes back to EJ. She caught his glance and gave him a sheepish shrug. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Ah, Lass," he sighed and gave her a fatherly pout. "What am I gonna do with ya, Darlin'? You're much too pretty a young thing to be wastin' away." He flashed her a warm smile. "Come on. I'll find ya something else to eat after we get ya settled."

He looked at McGee. "You come along too, Agent McGee."

They stood and walked past Flynn into the hallway. He gave Tim a slap on the back. "McGee - a fine Irish name you've got, Lad," he said and let out a hearty laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - EJ's self-reflection forces her to reexamine her decisions in her relationship with Gibbs and to come to terms with her biggest regret.


	22. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nothing but time on her hands as she waits by the side of an unconscious Gibbs, her largest regret about her and Gibb's relationship haunts her mind and forces her to confront their future together, if Gibbs survives.

EJ woke to movement and a rustling sound close to her. Opening sleep filled eyes, her vision blurry, she tried to focus. Disoriented for a moment, her vision cleared and she recognized the hospital bed in front of her and noticed the indentation on the side of the bedspread where he head had been just a moment before, obviously having fallen asleep in her chair next to Gibbs' bed. She looked up and saw Gibbs laying there, his chest rising and falling slowly. Looking to the other side of the bed Doctor Ritchie came into view, checking IV's and monitor leads attached to Gibbs and making notes on a clipboard. Pulling her head away from the mattress she sat up and raised her arms high over her head, stretching her shoulders and back which ached from her awkward sleeping position.

The doctor looked over as she moved. "I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

She yawned and shook her head, dismissing his apology, "That's alright." She checked her watch. It was just after 3 am. Looking up at Ritchie anxiously, she asked, "How is he, Doctor?"

"Doing quite well, actually," Ritchie smiled. "Once we stabilized him his body started to respond to treatment. Organ failure was our immediate concern. His renal system seems to be recovering now. He's a tough old Marine, Agent Barrett. He hasn't stop fighting."

EJ nodded, releasing a long sigh, a half-smile on her face. She looked down at her hands realizing she had been kneading her fingers, a nervous habit she had acquired years before. Relieved by the doctor's report her shoulders relaxed and she slumped back into her chair.

"What now?" she asked.

"It's still touch and go," her responded. "But if he continues to improve, his body should recover fully."

"How long do you think he'll be unconscious?"

"The pain medication keeps him under. I'm starting to back that off now. I image he'll wake up sometime in mid-morning."

He turned to face her, his head tilted down as he looked at her over the top of his glasses. His serious expression made it clear he had more to tell her and a whisper of fear floated over her.

"He almost died, Agent Barrett. It will take a while for his body to heal." He cleared his throat and sighed, looking down at the clipboard in his hand. "But it will take a lot longer for his mind to heal after that kind of torture." He looked back up at her. "He'll need you more than he has ever needed anyone in his life."

EJ swallowed hard past the lump in her throat and looked down again at her hands, nodding her understanding.

The doctor continued, "I've seen his medical records and a large portion of his service records. Sergeant Gibbs is a tough son-of-a-bitch. And, he's a loaner. Does things his way. Definitely a Marine!"

She brought her gaze back to meet Ritchie's, knowing a  _'but'_  was coming next.

"But," he said, "this is one mission he can't complete on his own. Can  _you_ handle this, Agent Barrett?"

She knew his question was a courtesy to her, but anger still flared and her gaze turned into a hard stare. "I told myself I was going to find him and that we were either going to live together or die together," she pressed out. She looked down at Gibbs' still form. "I found him. We're both alive. I guess that's your answer."

He nodded, his frown disappearing, a satisfied look of approval on his face. "Good," he said. "I expected nothing less."

Ritchie looked thoughtful for a moment, then continued, "You would have made a good soldier, Agent Barrett. Army fatigues would have suited you well."

Understanding his statement for the compliment it was EJ turned back to the Colonel, smiled and nodded her appreciation, words unnecessary.

"I'll be back around noon," he said. "You should get some sleep."

"I slept," EJ said, setting her jaw, ready to debate whether or not she should leave Gibbs' side.

Ritchie opened his mouth to speak, paused, then changed his mind. Instead, he nodded without protest, obviously reading her posture and expression correctly.

"Good night, Agent Barrett," he said as he walked past EJ and out the door.

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied after him.

EJ drifted in and out sleep the rest of the night, sitting in the chair beside Gibbs' bed, her hand on top his, listening to the various machines latched onto him like parasites. As the morning sun's rays filtered into the hospital room she opened her eyes, stretched and yawned, scrubbed a hand across her face and flipped her ponytail behind her shoulders. Although fitful, her sleep had been without nightmares and she felt more rested than she had in several days.

Her chair sat lower than Gibbs' bed, allowing her to scoot over and lean her chin on the mattress as she reached up and put her left hand on top of his, lacing their fingers together. Watching the slow rise and fall of his chest lulled her into a hypnotic state, her thoughts flowing from visions of the future to memories of the past. She could see a future with Gibbs, a future she wanted without any doubt. And while her memories of their relationship were warm, one specific regret haunted her.

Gibbs was a traditionalist. His age, growing up in a small Pennsylvania town, being a Marine, working in law enforcement, all those factors combined to forge a man who was fiercely loyal, caring to the point of self-sacrifice and with an unshakable commitment to right and wrong. And when it came to their rekindled relationship - he was  _slow_.

He wanted to take things slow.  _Courting_  – no other word better described Gibbs' approach to their relationship - was important to him, a sign of respect and devotion. However, courting was not part of EJ's generation, at least, it didn't mean the same thing to her as it did to him. Out of respect for him she had dedicated herself to move forward in their relationship at his pace. But now, with him laying in front of her, barely retreating from the edge of death, she looked at their intertwined left hands and her heart ached with regret at the absence of the two rings which should be on their fingers. She cursed under her breath at her cowardice.

Tears welled in her eyes. She was tired of tears. There had been too many, too often and she was getting fed-up with her crying jags. She let out another curse at her tears.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing, Lass," Flynn's soft voice startled her and she turned to see him standing in the doorway, "you may be a wee thing, but you can cuss like a rogue with a belly full a beer!" His smile was warm and broad.

EJ chuckled and sat back in her chair.

"Mind some company, Darlin'?" the Irishman asked.

She grinned up at him. "I'd love some company."

Flynn, always the nurse, pulled up a chair in front of her so he could see both EJ and the various monitor readouts.

"So," Flynn said, his eyes twinkled mischievously, "when's the date?"

"Huh?" EJ asked, puzzled.

"Doctor Ritchie says there may be a shot-gun wedding soon. That you're gonna force Sergeant Gibbs to make an honest woman out of ya."

EJ let out a laugh. She truly appreciated this man, and his brash intrusiveness only made her like and trust him more.

"We'll have to see what happens," she said.

"So, I'm guessing - given the Sergeant is a wee bit older than you - he's been married before?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Four times, actually."

"Oh …," Flynn drew out the word, his expression thoughtful. "And you?"

"Never been married."

"That's hard to believe, a pretty lass like you!"

"Yeah, well …," she said dismissively.

"Mind me asking how the two of you got together?"

For the next twenty minutes EJ shared her and Gibbs' story. She explained how they met, fell in love and were then torn apart. She recounted Gibbs' four marriages and three divorces. She remembered her years of longing and denial, culminating with how fate had brought them back together just six months ago. As she finished relief swept over her, pushing aside the heavy weight of the past several days.

Flynn sat and thought for a few moments, a pensive look on his face. "Lass, would you care for a wee bit of advice from a man of  _advanced maturity_?" he smirked at EJ.

She chuckled. "Fire away."

Flynn scrunched his brow and his smile faded. His face turned thoughtful, his tone soft, but serious. "Ya know …," he said, "old dogs like me and the sergeant ..., well ..., time and experience beats us up pretty bad sometimes. We can get a little gun-shy, if you know what I mean."

"I know Gibbs is afraid of getting married again and making another mistake," EJ huffed out. "But he's not …," she stuttered. "I won't …," she paused again, obviously flustered. "I would never hurt him."

Flynn's warm smile returned and he shook his head. "Darlin', I've been around long enough to know from the story you told me that with wives number two through four the sergeant was running away - running from something."

"Ok," EJ said, tentatively, not quite following Flynn's train of thought.

"Oh, Lass," Flynn sighed, "this time around it's different for the sergeant. He's not running  _from_  something this time. This time he's running  _to_ something. He's running  _to you_. That's quite a big difference for the old dog."

"So?" EJ said, still confused.

"He's not afraid of being hurt again, as much as he's afraid of hurting you. Every time his eyes find that locket around your neck it reminds him of the promise he made to you, and it scares him silly."

"Oh," she said, finally understanding Flynn's point. She paused, considering the unlikely romantic before her. "How do you know all this?"

"Like I said, Lass, I'm an old dog - like the sergeant. We've walked many of the same paths from what you tell me. Trust me, Lass, this man loves you. But if you want to get things movin' along you may have to reach out and put a boot in his ass …," he paused, a slight flush of embarrassment tinging his cheeks, "Ah … pardon my language, Dear."

EJ continued to stare at the man, seeing the truth of his wisdom. If her relationship with Gibbs was going to move to the next level, if they were going to make a permanent commitment to each other, she couldn't wait for him to propose. Otherwise it might take years. And she was unwilling, especially after the grief and fear of the past three months, to spend one minute longer than necessary without that ring on his finger.

She nodded at Flynn. "You're right! I'm done waiting.  _We're_  done waiting. If I could get to a drugstore I'd buy a 25 cent plastic ring and hang it on his finger - and if he gave me any backtalk, I'd force it down his throat!" she huffed out a laugh.

"Now you're talking, Lass!" he said, echoing her laugh.

EJ arched an eyebrow, feeling a sly smile pull at the corners of her mouth as she captured his eyes with hers. "Are you sure you're not Cupid in disguise?"

He looked down at his huge frame, then looked back up at EJ and scoffed. "Not likely, Dear. Don't think there's wings strong enough to get this old tub off the ground."

EJ stood, stepped across and leaned down to kiss Flynn on his cheek, whispering in his ear, "Well, you're  _my_  Cupid." Stepping back she saw his face flare scarlet red.

She looked over at Gibbs and sighed. "He's gonna get better. He has to. And when he does …, well …, I'll have my boots ready."

"That's my girl!" Flynn snorted, a grin stretching across his face.

They both turned toward the door as the sound of knocking reached their ears. His knuckles resting on the door frame, McGee smiled at them. EJ motioned for him to enter and he stepped over to them, but kept his gaze on the still form lying in the bed. "How's he doing?" he asked.

EJ responded, "Doctor Ritchie says he's doing OK. Expects he'll wake up sometime this morning."

McGee looked at EJ, surprised. "That's really great news!"

She nodded.

"EJ, why don't you go and get some sleep?" McGee said. "I've had about six hours and feel OK. I can take over here."

"I slept," she said, assuming the same posture that had won this battle with the doctor hours earlier.

But McGee was not the doctor and he persisted. "You couldn't have slept much sitting here and it probably wasn't good sleep. The hospital has a couple of small guest rooms with beds. They're not the most comfortable, but after about two minutes I was out like a light and didn't know the difference. Go on, I've got this."

"Thanks, Tim, but I'm OK."

"EJ," his voice had shifted into a pleading whine, "you've got to get some rest."

She really liked McGee and appreciated his concern for her, but he was about to cross the line with his nagging and she could feel her self-control slipping. She gritted her teeth, "I said I'm fine, McGee."

"But ...," he started to reply.

Flynn cut him off. "You are a fine lad, McGee, but a bit slow on the up-take," he chuckled softly.

"Huh?" McGee grunted back.

"Lad, have you heard the saying, ' _a cold day in hell'_?" Flynn quickly looked over at EJ as he finished the sentence. "Opps. Sorry again for the language, Dear."

EJ just smirked back.

"What?" McGee replied, not understanding the big man's point.

"That's the kind of day it'll be when this lass walks out of this room against her will," Flynn finished.

"Oh ...," McGee paused, obviously catching on.

McGee changed his tactics. "Well, at least go grab something to eat in the mess and take a shower. It'll make you feel better. We're only talking about an hour and I'll be here the whole time."

EJ paused and hummed to herself for a moment, pondering McGee's proposal. A shower would feel good. The grim and sweat from the previous day still clung to her. And her stomach had been periodically protesting the length of time since her last meal with various gurgles and growls.

"OK," she said. "I'll be back in less than an hour. You call me if anything changes. You got that, McGee?" the seriousness of her tone was unmistakable.

"Copy that," McGee responded. "I will call you if anything changes," he reaffirmed her instructions.

"Alright. I'll be back." She stood and quirked up one eyebrow staring at Flynn for a moment, then turned her glare upon McGee, the sternness in her expression making it clear she was not to be messed with concerning her wishes. Satisfied both men knew there would be hell to pay if they crossed her, she left, the anticipation of a hot shower and a hot meal raising her spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - Gibbs wakes to the agony that EJ is dead, killed by Rathburn, and his life is over, nothing to live for without her.


	23. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibbs fight for survival brings him back to consciousness. But the world he has reentered is empty without EJ. Rathburn has taken her from him, killed her because of his failure to protect her.

Gibbs first noticed the dull, pulsing pain behind his eyes. There was light coming from somewhere, but he couldn't see anything and then realized his eyes were closed. Murky visions surfaced of hands battering against him, pain lashing through his body, cold concrete underneath. He stiffened as panic coalesced inside him, fear clawing at his mind.

Forcing himself to calm he took inventory of his situation. He was pleasantly warm instead of bitterly cold. The surface beneath him was soft, not the hard concrete he had become used to. And the pain was present, but it lingered in the background, not the overwhelming force he had known for so long.

Struggling to clear his mind he focused his attention on opening his eyes. Through force of will he managed to raise one eye lid, then the other. Blurred light and shapes danced in front of him, causing his stomach to lurch, nausea pushing at his throat. He pulled his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath to quell his rebelling stomach.

Risking a second look he pried his eyes open again. This time his stomach fought only half as hard against him as his vision began to focus, forcing the blurred images into sharper detail. Only a moment passed before he recognized his surroundings. The familiar smell and sounds of a medical facility filled his nose and ears. Hospitals and infirmaries were not foreign territory for Gibbs, having visited them many times as a patient, family member and Marine.

He risked making his headache worse by turning his head to survey the room. Immediately he recognized McGee, sitting off to the side, engrossed in his tablet computer. He tried to speak, but only a dry, strangled gurgle came from his lips. It was enough to catch McGee's attention as the agent's head jerked up, looking toward Gibbs. McGee's mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged as he jumped up and rushed over to the bed.

"Boss!" he gasped. "You're alive …, I mean …, ah …, you're awake." Gibbs saw the wetness in McGee's eyes. "God, it's so good to see you, Boss. Ah …, what do you need? Can I get you anything?"

Still unable to speak, his lips, mouth and throat as dry as the Sahara, he licked his lips and moved his gaze to the pitcher of water on the table next to the bed. McGee got the message. Rushing around to the table he poured water into cup and inserted a straw, holding it up to Gibbs' mouth. He moaned with relief as the cool liquid washed over his cracked lips, soothing his parched mouth and throat.

"Not too much," McGee said. "Just a couple of sips."

Gibbs nodded and released the straw from his lips. His mouth and throat somewhat lubricated, he attempted to speak again.

"Where …?" his voice was a hoarse whisper.

"We're in the Madigan Army Medical Center at Fort Lewis, in Tacoma," McGee responded.

"How …?" he whispered again.

"We got your message painted on the boat seat. We figured it out. Raided the house and found you."

"When …?"

"About 18 hours ago," McGee said.

Gibbs nodded, the pain in his head growing with each passing minute.

"Rathburn?" Gibbs breathed out.

"We caught him, Boss. Figured out his plan and stopped it. No one got hurt."

At McGee's last statement Gibbs turned his head to the side, staring off into the corner of the room.  _No one got hurt_ , he thought.  _No_ _one, except EJ._

EJ had paid the ultimate price. She was dead and it was his fault. Just like Kate Todd had died over a decade ago. Just like he hadn't protected Kate then, he had failed to protect EJ now. Physical pain dulled as his emotions swelled. His eyes squinted as he struggled against the raw, jagged grief devouring what little Rathburn had left of him. Despair enveloped him as his grief battled for release.

Rathburn had won after all, beating his body and soul into oblivion. He was broken now, a hallow shell, nothing left inside and nothing left to live for. He would never walk again in the world without the searing pain of his failure. Every familiar place would remind him of her, fueling a never ending guilt. Every friend, every colleague - all would know it was his fault a monster had ripped her throat out and devoured her. He wouldn't survive that; couldn't live with that pain. EJ didn't deserve to die. But he did. He was a coward, one to which the world owned nothing.

He shuddered, pushing his head back against his pillow. Yes, he truly was a coward. A coward for avoiding the one thing he wanted most in life. A coward for letting fear control him. A coward for not committing ultimately to her. Ducky knew. Ducky had told him of his rare fortune – of having two true loves in his lifetime; first Shannon and then, EJ. And he did love her. He had changed for her – for them. But time was fickle and short and unforgiving. His time with her had run out, recklessly squandered away by his fear.

Gibbs squeezed his eyes shut, his body too parched to surrender even a single drop of moisture. Rathburn had taken everything from him, even his tears.

McGee sputtered, "Boss, are you OK?"

McGee's quiet question pierced his ears. Gathering his self-control he prepared a platitude to relieve McGee of his fears. But the sound of a sharp breath followed by a heavy, shuddering gasp interrupted him.

"Oh, my God. Jethro!"

Grimacing in pain he struggled to turn toward the voice, desperately wanting to believe his ears, but terrified his guilt had finally destroyed his mind. Seconds ticked by as his eyes ached, trying to focus. Then his vision cleared to find EJ standing in the doorway, frozen, a myriad of emotions flashing across her face. Their eyes locked and his weakened body trembled, overwhelmed with disbelief. She was alive.

EJ rushed to his side, crashing down over him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into his neck. Thick sobs wrenched at her body, shaking them both. He struggled to sit up as sharp, jolting pain surged through every part of his body. Slowly he brought his arms up and around her, pulling her to him with what little strength remained.

His mind spun. She was alive. But what about the news stories and the TV report and her locket? She was supposed to be dead. But she was alive. Disbelief faded as her touch and smell and the wetness of her tears convinced him she was real. And she was in his arms, once again.

Time disappeared as their embrace continued, desperate and fierce, neither willing to let go. After a while EJ's sobs quieted and she relaxed her grip enough to move her mouth to his ear, her voice shaking, "I thought you were dead. But you came back to me. " Her voice choked again with emotion, "I love you, so much!" She buried her face back into his neck.

In spite of the pain searing through his body, Gibbs pulled her closer. "They told me they killed you," his voice cracked as he choked down the emotion threatening to burst out. "They showed me things. They gave me your locket. I …, I didn't want to go on." His body started to shake and he felt EJ tighten her grip around him, anchoring him to her. Anchoring them to each other.

"Bastards," she cursed into his neck. She pulled her head back to look at him, reaching up with both hands to cup his face. "I'm here, Jethro."

Gently she pulled one of his arms from around her, grasping his hand and guiding it to the locket dangling by her throat.

"See," she said.

His fingers gently caressed the delicate white rose and the smooth silver edge. "How did you get this?" he asked, surprised and elated to see it around her neck.

"You had it when we found you," she replied. "Your fist was wrapped around it. Tight! You never let it go, Jethro. You never let  _me_  go."

Her eyes touched his, the love reflected in them, undeniable. She pulled his lips to hers, visiting a soft kiss and then tilted her forehead, touching his.

"We're gonna make it," she whispered. " _We …, you and I …, together_!"

Gibbs sighed, "you got that right, Munchkin."

She let out a half-hearted scoff at the nickname and pushed her lips back to his for another fleeting kiss.

"Ahem," McGee cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to the room.

Where McGee had been standing earlier – Gibbs couldn't estimate how long ago that had been – were two new visitors. One very large, redheaded man in green scrubs and a short, dark haired man in a white lab coat. Gibbs surmised the former was a nurse and the later, a doctor.

"Boss," McGee said.

"Not your boss any more, McGee," Gibbs managed to croak back.

"Boss," McGee continued, undaunted, "this is the Charge Nurse, Ryan Flynn and this is your doctor, Colonel Ritchie," he said, pointing at each man respectively.

Gibbs managed a weak nod as EJ moved to sit on the side of the bed, never letting go of Gibbs' hand.

"Sergeant," Ritchie said, "you gave us quite a scare."

Gibbs looked at the doctor and frowned. "Not a Marine any more, Doc."

A loud laugh burst forth from Flynn, startling Gibbs, making him pull back a little in surprise. Gibbs looked from Ritchie, to Flynn and then back to Ritchie.

"You tell him," Ritchie said to Flynn.

"You're in an Army medical center, Sir," Flynn said. "And you're veteran and a patriot. We wouldn't do you any less honor than to refer to you by your rank, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs." Flynn's face beamed, his eyes shifting back and forth between EJ and Gibbs.

"Oh," Flynn said as an afterthought. "Like Agent McGee said, name's Ryan Flynn. Pleasure to meet ya," his brogue was strong now. "Been waitin' to meet the lucky beggar that captured the heart of this amazing lass," he nodded his head toward EJ. "From one old dog to the other, I'm guessin' you know how lucky ya are." Flynn smiled and winked at EJ, then turned a serious face back to Gibbs.

Gibbs managed a smirk as he looked from Flynn to EJ who blushed bright read, her lips turning upward in a smile that made him forget about the nagging pain lingering throughout his body.

Gibbs looked back at Flynn. "Got a good idea," he rasped out.

"That's good," was all Flynn said in return.

"Agent Barrett," the doctor interjected, "may I impose and have a few minutes with Sergeant Gibbs alone. Now that he's awake I need to perform an examination and schedule some tests."

EJ looked at Gibbs. He saw the quick flash of fear on her face and felt her hand tense around his. "It's OK, Erica," he said. "Not going anywhere – least not without you."

Her face calmed and her hand relaxed. She leaned down, giving him another soft kiss. He managed a weak squeeze of her hand as she hopped off the bed and she and McGee left the room, but not before giving Gibbs one last, longing glance over her shoulder.

Doctor Ritchie's prognosis was for a full recovery, albeit a long, slow and painful process. The following two weeks in the hospital moved by at a snail's pace, which suited EJ just fine. After months agonizing over his death she was elated for  _any_  situation where he was not out of her sight, especially now that he was recovering.

Two days after Gibbs' rescue and MEDVAC flight to the hospital Director Craig had called both McGee and Bishop back to DC to close-out the Bangor case. Rathburn's planned terrorist attack on a nuclear warhead using a stolen army anti-tank missile had moved the case up to the forefront of interest for not just the Navy, but for the Army and Homeland Security as well. The FBI also wanted in the loop, given that Gibbs – a civilian – had been kidnapped and transported across state lines.

Thinking Director Craig would also make her return she had readied herself to battle with him, and if he was unrelenting, resign her position. Nothing would keep her from Gibbs' side now that she had found him. Surprisingly, Craig had informed the SecNav's office he had assigned EJ to a special security and protection detail, guarding one retired NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Although Rathburn and his men were in custody, Craig argued to the SecNav a chance still existed that an unknown accomplice might attempt to silence Gibbs once and for all and there was no better strategy for protection than leaving him in the hospital, in the middle of an Army base, with an experienced NCIS agent on guard. EJ knew the likelihood of such an attack was minimal and that the director knew she would not leave Gibbs. He had made this arrangement to avoid an unnecessary conflict, knowing that staying with Gibbs was what both she and Gibbs needed. Once again, Craig had proved to her his staunch ability to make tough decisions - as he had when he refused her request to mount a rescue - while exercising his compassion and support for his people by letting her stay with Gibbs as long as necessary.

The first night after Gibbs regained consciousness EJ's exhaustion was prevalent and when prompted by McGee, Flynn and even Ritchie, to retreat to a guest room and sleep, she had vehemently refused. Flynn - remembering it would be  _a cold day in hell_  before any of them could persuade her to leave Gibbs - had a cot setup in Gibbs' room. Relieved she could stay close to Gibbs she opened herself to rest and was rewarded by sleep free from the terror of nightmares which had haunted her for months.

Gibbs spent most of the first week in a slight haze caused by the pain medication, drifting in and out of sleep as his body strived to mend itself. She spent every waking moment by his side, holding his hand, rubbing his arm, watching him sleep, content just to be close to him, to touch him. Her heart swelled with pride that it was she – no one else - who was his guardian, the sentry protecting him from the outside world, as she maintained her vigil at his bedside.

The second week brought longer and longer bouts of consciousness as the doctor reduced pain medication while his body's healing progressed slowly. With his ability to think coherently restored, they spent many hours talking as EJ slowly went over the past three months since his kidnapping and imprisonment. She was careful not to overwhelm him with the details of her personal struggle. But she could see in his eyes he knew. Of course he knew. He, more than anyone else, knew exactly the pain and despair she had experienced, even if it went unsaid between them.

He didn't offer any information about his captivity and torture, nor did she broach the subject. His body was a testament to that horrific experience and she knew he would tell her on his own terms and in his own time.

As she spent time with Gibbs EJ's thoughts often turned to her conversation with Flynn about her needing to take the initiative if she and Gibbs were going to take their relationship to the next level. She wanted that – no doubt lingered in her mind. She had waited for ten years – perhaps not intentionally – but she had waited. Waited for him. Never meeting anyone who even remotely felt as much a part of her as Gibbs. From the moment they met they  _knew_  each other. And throughout the years she never felt with anyone else the way she had felt with him.

She told herself she had delayed talking about their future so as not to upset him, to allow him time to heal without imposing extra stress. But part of her knew that fear fueled her hesitation. Fear that he wouldn't feel the same, that he wasn't yet ready. Fear that if she forced the issue it might push him away, something she was unwilling to risk. But at the same time she was unwilling to continue as before.

She thought back to six months prior and the terror she felt when she had gone to Gibbs' home and told him she still loved him and wanted him back in her life. She had said she was ' _all-in_ ' and if that wasn't enough for him, she'd understand. It had been enough for him. He had come for her, snatching her from the bowels of a transport plane just moments before she would have flown back to Spain and out of his life forever. He did love her – as much as she loved him.

But Rathburn had changed everything. Rathburn had dredged up a fear in Gibbs he had spent decades overcoming. If Flynn was right – that Gibbs was afraid of hurting her – then this brush with death could only have resurrected that fear. Yes, they  _knew_ each other. He would know his death would devastate her. She was certain he had seen as much in her eyes as they danced around that exact issue during the past two weeks, because it had proved more difficult to hide her emotions from him than she had anticipated. He knew the excruciating pain of loosing a spouse for whom he had cared deeply and he would not want for her to experience that pain and suffering. Where the fear of loosing him made her heart ache for the culmination of their relationship, she knew the exact same fear would probably motivate Gibbs to avoid taking their relationship further in his effort to protect her should she ever lose him.

Over the past week she had ruminated over and over about what to do. Pushing Gibbs might turn him away in his misguided belief that he would be protecting her. He had done this to them before, ten years ago in Hawaii, and there was a serious risk he might do it again. But continuing on as they had was killing her inside. She wanted more and with each passing day the need inside her grew, along with the ache of its denial. She knew she needed to talk with him soon and that any conversation would shape the rest of their lives, either together, or apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - Death almost ripped them apart - forever. But now that they are together again Gibbs and EJ struggle to find the direction of their relationship and love for each other.


	24. Commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain and fear of loosing each other still strong in their minds, EJ and Gibbs must decide if they continue in their relationship and risk such a loss in the future, or separate as friends in order to protect each other from ever experiencing that type of grief again.

The early evening of Gibbs' thirteenth day in the hospital lingered while he and EJ finished the food on their trays; standard hospital fare delivered from the mess. Gibbs could see EJ's anxiety reflected in her face while they waited for a scheduled visit from Doctor Ritchie who said he would have news regarding Gibbs' possible release from the hospital.

EJ looked over at Gibbs as he slurped a spoonful off Jello. "Ew! How can you eat that stuff?"

Gibbs tilted his head down and raised his eyes to glance at her from under thick eyebrows, a mock look of annoyance on his face. "Twenty years as a Marine," he responded. "It's not that bad, Munchkin." He was feeling better, enough to taunt EJ with his pet nickname which he knew she disliked.

She sent him a glare.

Before she could formulate a proper retort Gibbs spoke again, "Even you can't mess up Jello." His teasing smile broadened realizing she was about to take the bait.

"Hey," she protested, "I'm a pretty good cook and you know it. Not Julia Child, but decent for a single girl. You never seem to complain when I'm at your place and take over cooking duties, mister one-trick-pony, steak and potatoes man." She stabbed at a carrot and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

Gibbs snorted, enjoying the banter. "Yeah? Well, I'm not convinced. I think you need more practice."

"Practice?" she said incredulously. "Practice my ass! Jethro, when do I have time to practice cooking, or anything else for that matter. I'm running back and forth between my place and work – then work and your place – then your place and my place – then …," her voice trailed off as she heaved an exasperated sigh. "My damn car is racking-up miles like you can't believe." She looked back down at her tray of food, pushing her fork from one entree to another.

She was right. Their relationship had made her life a logistical nightmare. His new profession as a private investigator provided him complete control over his time. He could come and go as he pleased, decide to work or take the day off, stay up late or sleep in. But no one knew better than he the demands of EJ's job. The long, exhausting hours with too much coffee and fast food and too little sleep. Between the two of them, living apart was brutal on her, in more ways than one.

It was time for that to change. He had made that choice as he dwelled over their relationship during his recuperation the past two weeks. But this galvanized his decision regarding the timing of that change – that time was now.

Over the past week, ever since the haze of his pain medication had lifted and he could think clearly again, his thoughts kept returning to EJ and him together; to how things were now – and how he wanted them to be. During those times when he had awoken to find EJ sleeping on the cot next to him, or dozed off in the chair with her head leaning against his mattress, he had immersed himself into the quiet of the room, reevaluating their relationship – where it had come from and where it might be going. Often he had flashed back to the moment Rathburn convinced him she was dead. Every time his mind played that scene the grief and pain and hopelessness had welled up inside as he laid there, glaring at the tubes and wires connected to him. More than once he had choked down a gasp which had woken EJ and he quickly had to hide his emotion before she became fully alert.

Six months ago, when he decided to risk his heart to be with EJ again, he had committed to change. But if he was honest with himself he was still dragging his feet when it came to taking the next step in their relationship. That hesitation couldn't continue. He had already lost her twice during his life. The first time, a decade ago, when he let his fear overrule his heart and he ended their relationship. The second time, when Rathburn convinced him she was dead. He couldn't delay any longer. It was time to put his fear and insecurity behind him. It was time to move forward. He only hoped she felt the same. He turned in the bed to face her, solidifying his resolve. It was now or never.

"Yeah, about your car," he said. "In my mind there's two solutions to that problem."

"Emm …?" EJ mumbled in response. Her attention had returned to examining her food. She paused, then made a seemingly difficult decision, scooping her fork into a pile of mashed potatoes.

Gibbs continued. "Option one - get a new car …," he paused, smirking at her lack of attention, and then delivered the punch-line, "or, option two - get a new place to live."

She froze, a fork full of mashed potatoes halfway between the tray and her mouth - which had dropped open - her eyes wide, staring back at him.

"Excuse me?" she croaked.

"You're excused," he said, his smirk widening.

EJ put her fork down and moved the tray from her lap to the floor. She turned her chair to face Gibbs, fixing a hard gaze on him as he sat back in his bed.

"What's this about?" she countered, cautiously.

At her question Gibbs let out a loud laugh. "Do you remember when we first met?"

"Uh ha," she acknowledged slowly, her eyes squinting in suspicion.

"You were young and pretty cocky."

"Like you weren't?" she huffed, and then sarcastically corrected her statement, "... cocky, I mean, 'cause you sure weren't young!"

"Ouch," he said with mock indignation. "Anyway," he continued, "remember the cup of coffee you brought me?"

"Yeah? Still not following you, Jethro," she said, her voice growing impatient.

"I asked you what the cup of coffee was about and you said …"

She jumped in, "I said, ' _you need to brush up on your investigation skills'._ Come on, Jethro! The coffee was kinda obvious. Anyway, what's your point?"

"My point is - looks like now it's you who needs to brush up on her investigation skills. Figure it out, Erica."

He smiled at her silently, watching as awareness began to slowly register on EJ's face. She broke out into broad grin, but just as quickly it was replaced by a frown, her eyes narrowing again.

"Gibbs," she said, her voice low and menacing, her eyes boring holes into his, "you better not screw with me on this. You screw with me and I will beat your butt so bad!"

He knew her use of his last name meant she was deadly serious. But he couldn't help drawing out his teasing a little longer. "Promise?" he quipped back.

She stood up from the chair and leaned against the bed, still frowning, her arms folded across her chest. "You're not serious about the car, right?"

"That's up to you," he said.

"I don't want a new car," she responded, her gaze still locked with his.

"Looks like its option two, then," he shot back.

"Yeah," she said snidely, "option two. Know of any good places?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he smirked back at her.

There was a long pause as he watched her expression turn solemn. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice tentative.

He could hear the hint of fear in her voice. Fear that perhaps his injuries were clouding his thinking and after things cleared up he might change his mind. But, yes! He was sure. He had no doubts. And he had to erase any doubts in her mind as well. He had to make her understand he truly did want more with her, much more. Wanted her closer. Wanted to protect her. Wanted their lives to become one. His chest tightened as he drew a breath, then reached out and took her hands in his and squeezed.

"More sure of this than anything else in my life," he whispered.

EJ looked at him, wetness pooling in her eyes. But her expression remained unchanged, intense and serious.

"Jethro, I'm not sure …," she paused, her lower lip trembling, then started again. "I love you more than I can say. You know that, right?"

He nodded, his eyes still on hers, nervous doubt creeping into his thoughts.

She swallowed hard. "But I'm not sure I can do this half-way. I don't think it's in me. I want ...," she paused, pulled her hands from his, wiped her eyes, rubbed them dry on her jeans, squared herself in front of him and then grasped his hands again, hard, like she would never let go.

Inhaling sharply she continued. "I  _need_  all of you. I don't want just part of something. I want all of  _us_. A whole  _us_."

Tears had started trickling down her cheeks. She shook her head and looked off to the side, "Goddammit! I've been a blubbering mess for three months and it's all your fault. I'm sick and tired of it."

She cleared her throat and turned back to Gibbs, still holding his hands, her face, determined. "You'd better be ready to  _put-up or shut-up,_ Marine! You got that?!"

He tilted his head to the side, recognizing the seriousness behind her quip. "Careful what you wish for," his voice was almost inaudible as he pulled his hand from hers, reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small, dark blue velvet box.

EJ's eyes dropped to the box in his hand. Her mouth moved but speech didn't come. He felt her her hand trembling in his.

"Erica, I've done this a few times before, for different reasons. But only two times for love – the first time and the last time.  _This_ is the last time."

Releasing her hand he pulled the lid back, revealing a delicate golden, diamond solitaire ring, then whispered softly, "Marry me, Erica Jane Barrett."

She stood, frozen, speechless. Looking up, her eyes met his, her face a swirl of emotions; surprise, disbelief, relief, joy, love. And even though she hadn't responded to his question, from her face he knew the answer and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Dammit, Jethro," she said, as her tears flowed freely, "if we're gonna do this then you need to stop making me cry at the drop of a hat!"

"I suppose that's a ' _yes_ '," he said.

"Damn right, it's a ' _yes'_!" she shot back.

EJ lunged forward and flung her arms around his neck, pulling him to her as her lips crashed upon his, the kiss deep and passionate. He met her lips eagerly, his hands pulling at her shoulders, trying to bring her closer. Frustrated that her position standing by the bed leaning over him wasn't close enough, Gibbs reached down and grabbed her jeans and belt, weakly trying to hoist her up onto his bed. She grabbed the mattress and pulled herself up, sinking into him, erasing any distance remaining between them. Turning toward him she curling her small frame into his side as she fisted his robe and pushed her head into his chest, trying to catch her breath. His arm circled around her, his hand slowly rubbing up and down her back.

They laid there, EJ wrapped in Gibbs' embrace as he left soft kisses on the top of her head, his hand continuing to stroke her back and arm. She picked up the blue box from his lap and stared at the ring, wiping her cheeks with her other hand.

"I supposed it was about time," Gibbs said as he nuzzled her cheek.

"Ya think?!" she snorted, then added, "You did good, Marine."

"Oorah!" he said with a soft chuckle.

"Ah," came Flynn's voice from the doorway, an insufferable grin on his face. "I see the deed's been done. Good on ya, Sergeant Gibbs." He walked over to where Gibbs and EJ lay cuddled on the bed.

EJ looked up at Flynn, then shot Gibbs a puzzled look, then returned her gaze to Flynn. "You knew about this?" she asked, somewhat flabbergasted.

Flynn's smile grew larger as he nodded.

EJ turned to Gibbs. "He knew about this!" it was a statement, not a question.

"How'd ya think I got the ring?" Gibbs said, leaning down and kissing her nose.

"Happy to run the errand, Sergeant," Flynn said. "Figured if I didn't lend a hand to get this taken care of our little lass might do something to extend your stay with us." He grinned down at EJ.

She reached out a hand to him, pulling him down to her and placing a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she said to the big Irishman. "I don't know how I would have survived here with you."

Flynn gave her a sheepish nod as a blush ran from his cheeks down his face, blotching his neck red.

Gibbs eyes focused on the door beyond Flynn as Doctor Ritchie entered. He noticed the doctor raise an eyebrow when he saw EJ laying in the bed. Then his gaze traveled to the box and ring in EJ's hand.

"I see congratulations are in order," the doctor said, stepping over to the bed.

"Thanks, Doc," Gibbs replied. "When can I get outta here?"

"How would you feel if I told you tonight's your last night with us?"

"Second best news I've had today," Gibbs said, smiling at EJ.

"You'll be released tomorrow," Ritchie said. "But you need to rest for a minimum of four weeks. And I mean  _rest._ Not kinda rest, or sorta rest.  _Rest_! You almost died, Sergeant. Your body needs more time to heal itself. No strenuous activity, no work, no stress."

Ritchie looked at EJ. "I'm placing him under your care, Agent Barrett. Think you can keep this old jarhead in line?" he finished with a chuckle.

"No problem, Colonel," EJ piped back. "He'll behave, if he knows what's good for him!"

"Hey," Gibbs whined, "no fair ganging up on the old guy."

"You know," the doctor said, his voice mischievous, looking at the ring in its box, "I hear it's not official until the ring goes on the finger."

"Aye," Flynn said, picking up on the taunt, "that's true, for sure."

Gibbs reached down and pulled the ring from the box. His other hand gently grasped EJ's left hand. He paused with the ring at the tip of her finger until she looked up into his eyes. "I love you, Erica. Always have. Always will."

Her smile wrapped around him, warming him to his core as he slid the ring on her finger. He pulled her into his embrace once more, running his fingers through her hair as she encircled her arms around his neck.

She moved her mouth to his ear and whispered, "best damn decision you ever made," and then nipped his earlobe, sending tingles all the way down to his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - Together again, with a future stretching out before them of love and commitment, Gibbs and EJ begin to heal, together.


	25. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months of grief, despair and pain begin to wash away as bodies and minds reconnect, finding healing in the sanctuary of each other.

A gloriously shining sun washed over them as they stepped out of their rental car into a warm breeze blowing in off the bay, the taste of salt water and the tang of evergreen forests dancing around their senses.

"Nice of Craig to assign you four weeks of protection detail. Cushy job," Gibbs said with a grin.

"Got that right," EJ agreed. "Except the client's kind of a pain-in-the-ass," she sneered at him.

"Great place to spend the time, huh?!" she added, looking around the secluded property and the front of a small, modern log cabin where they had parked. "I hear the weather this time of year in the San Juan Islands is incredible. If it stays like this, it's gonna be really nice and relaxing. Did you hear that Jethro?" she raised her eyebrow at him. "I said  _relaxing_."

"Yup," his tone was dismissive but a playful smile curved his lips. "Nice place," he said, scanning the cabin which was set back about 25 yards from a shallow rocky beach at the edge of the sparkling blue bay. "Who'd you say loaned this out to us?"

"Cozort. Lt. Commander, Cozort. He's the head of security at Bangor. It's his vacation cabin." EJ reminded him.

"Oh, yeah. The guy who covered for you with Craig," he winked at her. "Think the director will ever know you and McGee quit your jobs?"

She gave he a wicked grin. "Nope. Cozort won't spill the beans and Bishop and his guys are afraid of me. I think I've got it covered."

"Oh, by the way," she continued, "Cozort wants to met you before we go back to DC. He said to make sure we also send him a wedding announcement when we set a date."

"Should I be jealous of this guy," Gibbs chided her.

EJ shot him a seductive smile and then stretched up on her tip-toes, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him, hard, biting his lower lip, her tongue demanding entrance into his mouth. Gibbs grabbed her hips and moaned, parting his lips, allowing her to control the kiss she had started. Her mouth was hungry on his, her tongue pushing, probing and tasting, dueling back and forth with his as she deepened the kiss. When both needed to breathe she pulled her lips back and forced her forehead against his, still on her tiptoes with his hands still on her hips.

Panting, she husked back at him, "Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice dusky and as full of need as hers.

He pulled her back into another kiss, just as passionate and demanding as the first, drawing a moan of pleasure from her throat this time. His hands moved from her hips the small of her back, pulling her into him, crushing her breasts into his chest, pulling her hips into his. This time he directed the kiss, making sure she knew she was his and no one else's. Pulling apart again for air he saw her eyes had gone dark confirming that she wanted him as much as he wanted her and that  _now_  would not be soon enough. He nodded toward their bags in the back seat of the car and without hesitation they grabbed their gear and headed straight toward the cabin.

EJ keyed the door open, pushed inside and threw her bag on the floor. Hot on her heels Gibbs stepped over the threshold, dropped his bag and turned to close the door. As he turned back he was slammed backwards against the door, EJ crashing her entire weight against him as she grabbed his jacket lapels pushing them backwards so Gibbs shoulders were pinned to the door, a feral look on her face as a low growl came from her throat.

As his back hit the door he let out a painful gasp, the bruises on his back and his broken rib painfully reminding him he still had not fully recovered.

EJ's attack wavered for a moment, her face flashed with regret. "Sorry," she hissed. "I can lighten up if ..."

He cut her off, his voice raw and gravelly, "Don't stop."

Her eyes flashed dark again, his command obviously fueling her desire. She grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him to her in a searing kiss, raking the finger nails of her other hand through his scalp. The kiss was hard and short as she pulled her mouth away, pushing it up to his ear. "I can't do slow. Not right now," she husked.

He nodded, his voice rasped, gulping for air, "Fast now, slow later."

He felt her nod against the side of his head, then rewarded her with a groan as she took his ear lobe into her mouth, sucking and biting. He pulled her closer as their breathing became labored and moaned as she ground her thigh into his growing arousal. He started to pull her into another kiss but she pushed backwards with her hands against his chest. His disappointing groan lasted only a moment as EJ dropped down into a squat and attacked the belt, button and zipper of his jeans. He kicked off his loafers as EJ slid his jeans and boxers down to his feet in one motion, stepping out of them as he grabbed her arms and raised her back to her feet in front of him.

He didn't know how it was possible but her eyes shone even darker than before, her breath shaking and erratic. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted up, her arms rising as he pulled it over the top of her head and threw it on the floor. Without hesitation she reached around with one hand, unclasping her bra and let it fall to the floor. Grabbing the back of his neck with her other hand she forced his face down to her breast, urging him on as he teased and licked her erect nipple and then pulled her breast into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue and lips. Bringing her other hand to his head she pushed his face to her other breast where he attended to it with the same adoration. The silky smoothness of her skin was warm and soft against his lips, the tautness of her nipples tantalized his tongue. He felt himself grow harder as she moaned her appreciation.

While he obeyed her direction to attend to her breasts EJ reached down around Gibbs head to unfasten her jeans and divest herself of pants and panties, then brought her hands to the hem of his shirt and lifted up, pulling his mouth away from its ministrations. He let out a short moan of displeasure but then realized her intention and lifted up his arms and finished removing his shirt.

Now completely devoid of clothing they stood before each other, a lull in their urgency as his eyes drank in the sight of her. His throat tightened and his eyes burned as the longing and desire for her, beaten down for the past three and a half months, broke through, searing his heart and setting his body on fire.

"You … are … exquisite!" he whispered. "I love you so much, Erica."

Reaching out he pulled her to him, his hand fisting in her hair as he bent down, covering her lips with his, his desire fueling the passion of his kiss. His mind spun, forcing away all thoughts as he reveled in the warmth of skin against skin. Holding her tight against him he backed toward the couch as she shuffled her feet to move in unison with his. Reaching his destination he sat, resting his sore back against the cushions. Pulling her to him she straddled his lap, dropping her knees to the couch on either side of his thighs, grinding down and moving her hips as he cupped her butt with both hands. She stilled for a moment, pulling his chin up to meet his eyes.

"God, I've missed you," she sighed.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on hers. He pulled her hips hard into his, grinding his length into her core.

Her breath hitched. "Fast, now?" she hissed.

"Fast, now!" he confirmed, his voice rough and low, dripping with lust. They began to move against each other, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up until the urgency of their need melded their bodies together.

The afternoon passed with the sounds of their passion echoing throughout the cabin. Hours lost their meaning as the hard, frantic and long awaited reunion of their bodies was matched later with the slow sensuousness of their need to touch and whisper and soothe. Their desire for each other sated only temporarily, they were driven to more mundane tasks as hunger eventually overtook them.

Gibbs laid back in the long lounge chair on the deck, chewing the sandwich he had crafted and sipping a beer, staring out at the indigo blue bay. Seagulls dived and darted, skimming the top of the small waves whipped up by a warm, late afternoon breeze. EJ walked onto the deck, nudged his legs apart and sat in front of him on the lounge, leaning her back against his chest. Setting his plate and beer aside he wrapped both arms around her, nuzzling her neck as they looked out at the sun hovering over the horizon, soon to disappear.

Pulling his knees up on either side of her and resting her hands on his thighs she let out a deep sigh and he knew she felt as content as he did in that moment. The world had righted itself again. They were together and that was all that mattered.

After a long while gazing at the horizon, EJ finally broke the silence. "Life's a lot shorter than we think," she murmered.

He looked down at the back of her head with a half smile, "Yup," he responded.

"You can't wait for happiness to find you. You have to make it yourself," she said, her voice decisive as she held up her hand and examined the ring on her finger.

He tightened his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Uh ha," he agreed.

"That would make a good rule," she mused.

"What would?" he questioned.

"Making your own happiness," she said. "How about this? Gibbs' Rule #2 -  _'you make your own happiness'_."

"Not bad. But already got a second rule."

She turned her head and saw the smirk on his face. "What do you mean you've already got a second rule?"

"Just what I said. Already got one."

"What is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Gibbs pulled her into him, wrapping his arms even tighter, bringing his lips close to her ear, "It has something to do with sex," he whispered.

Slowly her mouth curved into a coy smile and he felt a shiver run through her body. She turned into him, brushing her lips softly against his and whispered back, "I bet I'm gonna like that rule."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - a threat to EJ and Gibbs' happiness emerges.


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The have dangerous professions and live dangerous lives.

Tony watched Ziva from across the bullpen as she continued speaking on the phone with Director Craig. Although he could only hear her side of the conversation, her growing frown and furrowed brow set off alarms in his head.

"Yes, Director. Yes, Sir. I understand. We will alert them immediately. Thank you, Director." Ziva ended the call, returning the handset to it's cradle. She stared down at her desk, obviously lost in thought.

"Ziva," he said. When she didn't respond he called her name again, louder this time. "Ziva!"

She jerked her head up, confusion flashing across her face for a moment, replaced by anger. She ran her hand through her thick, brown hair and the hardness in her face changed to concern and then to doubt.

Unable to get a clear read on her emotions he asked anxiously, "What is it?"

"Homeland Security contacted Director Craig," she said, her voice rasping dry and strained. "Rathburn …," she paused, drew in a sharp breath, then continued, her voice almost inaudible, "Rathburn escaped."

Nausea surged in Tony's stomach, pushing its way into his throat. Struggling to force it back down he stared at her, stunned, not believing her words.

"We are to alert Gibbs and EJ," she whispered.

His eyes caught hers. The fear and panic reflected in them was palpable. "I …," she choked and stopped. Swallowing, she tried again. "I cannot do it, Tony. I cannot tell them. Not after all they have been through." He saw the shimmer of tears pooling in her eyes.

He nodded, walked across to her desk and drew her into his embrace. "I've got this, Ziva," he whispered. She wrapped her arms around his waist, nodding her appreciation as she buried her head into his chest.

After a few moments she took in a long breath, exhaled and stepped back from him. He understood her intent and pulled his phone from his pocket. Thumbing EJ's contact on the screen he listened to the chirps as the phone dialed her number.

"Hey Tony," EJ's cheery voice came over the phone.

"Uh …, hi, EJ," he said, his stomach still queasy, not knowing how to deliver the news about Rathburn's escape. "Is Gibbs there?"

"Yeah, he's right here," she sing-songed to Tony. "Wine, a beautiful sunset, a cushy lounge chair and Gibbs – what more could a girl want on a summer evening? Wait a sec, I'll hand him the phone."

"No, EJ," he blurted out, the apprehension in his voice unmasked, oozing out in spite of his effort to hide it.

"Tony, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice taking on his tension.

"Put this on speaker. You both need to hear this."

"You're scaring me, Tony. Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?"

"Just turn on your speaker!" he snapped. In an instant the guilt at his loss of composure sobered him. "EJ, I'm sorry," he sighed. "Please, just get Gibbs on the phone."

A few seconds later Gibbs' voice came over the speaker, "Yeah, DiNozzo, we can hear you."

"Ah …," Tony paused, squirming where he stood, unsure how to tell them the man who had almost destroyed their world was free. He swallowed hard, one hand gripping his phone so tight his knuckles turned white, the other pulling Ziva into his side.

"I have some really bad news, guys." He swallowed hard, mustered his courage and continued, "I am so sorry …."

### END ###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reading and ask that if you can spare a moment or two, please provide your thoughts in the form of a review/comment. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I learned a lot writinng this story and have really grown fond of Gibbs/Barrett. There will be more Gibbs/Barrett, as is obvious from the epilogue. So, until next time, wishing you all the best.


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